


Yet Another Potter Plot Bunny Farm

by Bleeb90



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF!Lily, Death, F/M, Felix Felicis, Gen, HP: EWE, M/M, Marriage Law Challenge, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleeb90/pseuds/Bleeb90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic will contain: </p><p>A) Little fantasies about how a little thing could go different, and it's immediate result(s).<br/>B) Plot Bunnies that most likely will never bloom into a full story.<br/>C) Stabbing at tropes<br/>If anything, I'd be flattered if you start to work with my ideas (I try to aim for some modicum of originality), just send me a link of what you made out of it. Reviews For The Win!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The accursed name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nymphadora wants to know why on earth their parents thought that could possibly be a good name.

"Why 'Nymphadora'?!" She screamed the fourteen year old, exasperated with her parents.

Andromeda said nothing, but arched her eyebrow imperiously.

"I know they called you 'Andromeda', but why on earth did you have to take your daughter down with you?"

Ted had to constrain himself from making a facepalm. He had been a Ravenclaw in his time, and while he and his Slytherin wife were surprised to find their daughter in the Hufflepuff house, he couldn't condone such stupidity. Half research was no research at all. Just because the girl was likely to score E's on her Astronomy OWL exams next year didn't mean she suddenly knew more than her parents.

"If my being a metamorphmagus isn't bad enough, and all the boys see me as a walking, talking sex toy, I can't walk through the great hall without hearing a 'Nympha/nympho mania' joke. It sickens me!"

Nymphadora made a sound of frustration as her mother and father sat on the couch, with their faces completely devoid of any emotion.

"If you were so dead-set on following a tradition of a family that tossed you out, there were better choices you know! You could have called me – "

"Demeter? After some insignificant moon of Jupiter and the goddess of grains and the underworld?"

"Well, obviously not, but – "

"An Uranian moon then? Miranda?"

"Yes, for the love of Merlin, why didn't you call me Miranda?!"

"Tssk. If I am going to use Shakespeare there are better names to choose from. Never mind, the Blacks chose to name their spawn after celestial bodies because of the mythological names."

"But Miranda is – "

"Out of the question," Andromeda interrupted her daughter.

"Now, we know Uranus has more moons than that. Ariel then?" Said the woman, sarcasm clear in her voice.

Ted snorted at the expression on his daughters face.

"Honey, Uranus' moon Ariel is also called after a Shakespearian play, never mind the fact that I, as a muggleborn, can't think of the name without remembering that horrible fairy tale of Hans Christian Andersen – and be glad, a year ago they released a Disney movie about it, no muggle wouldn't lay in stitches after you introduced yourself."

"Like they wouldn't right now," Nymphadora muttered sarcastically.

"Exactly," said Andromeda with a visible nod to Ted, completely ignoring her daughter's commentary. "Next moon then, Umbriel – oh get that look of your face, Nymphadora, that were my thoughts exactly, never mind the fact that that sounds awfully much like Umbridge, and let me tell you, I do not want my child even remotely associated with a family that has no qualms about interbreeding with Marshes* of all things. Heck, I would have called you Hag-who-feeds-on-childrens-livers before I would have called you anything that remotely sounds like Umbridge. I may come from a family that excelled in – and taught me – the arts of non-personal sacrificial Dark Magic, but there is stuff that even I cannot stomach. In other words: No."

Andromeda had a grim statisfaction at seeing her daughter look kind of greenish. So she faked a smile and happily went on.

"Titania then? Not only does it remind one of giants, once again, it's Shakespeare."

Ted took over.

"Honey, the Black family is known to love grand things. So naming you after a very small piece of rock in our own star system doesn't have the appropriate grandeur. Your mother is named after both a galaxy and constellation – take your pick. Your cousin Sirius is named after a star far bigger than our sun. And while we might not like your aunt Bellatrix, she has a constellation for herself and there is the crux – "

"What about aunt Narcissa then, her name clearly isn't from a celestial body!"

Andromeda snorted.

"And Narcissa is the youngest, produced after the heir and the spare, even if Bellatrix and I were both girls. Not to mention she looks vastly different from the rest of the family. And while nobody dares to gossip about the Blacks afraid of being cursed into oblivion, the rumour that my mother had an affair with Abraxas Malfoy won't die for a reason."

"But, but," Nymphadora sputtered.

"But that would make your aunt Narcissa and uncle Lucius half siblings*, yes I know. Coincidentally, she doesn't have a drop of Black-blood in her veins. Mother was a Rosier after all. Honestly, your cousin Draco is seven years old, but he doesn't look like the brightest lumos in the classroom, now does he?"

"Well..."

"There is a reason I ran away from home and married a muggleborn, Nymphadora. Before she lost it and went completely around the bend, I used to pity Bellatrix."

"More than your sister whom was forced to marry her HALF-SIBLING?!"

"Well, yes. I believe Trixy's spouse neglected her in favour of her brother in law. Cissy never had such problems because rumour has it that when the previous lady Malfoy heard about the existence of my youngest sister, she hexed Abraxas' bits off, pickled them and placed them in a jar on the mantle."

"Ew!"

"Indeed. Mind you, first and foremost I wanted to give birth to healthy children. The worst fear of every proper pureblood girl is to end up giving birth to a squib! In my rebellious phase I decided to read muggle science and came across Darwin. Especially his own private research on the development of his own children – he married his first cousin you see... And their grandparents were each others third cousins. Did you know that some of Darwin's children were rumoured to be infertile? It didn't take too long for me to be completely cured from all pureblood mania. The thought of giving birth to a squib, or an infertile child... I didn't even want to risk the results of fornication with a half blood, let alone a pureblood to whom I was related."

"But...?"

"They had a contract for me and my first cousin Regulus."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed. Not only were they angry that I'd refused to marry that spineless worm of a cousin whom was coincidentally the product of two second cousins, but for me to state that I had forsaken my 'duty to my family' in favour of conciously fornicating with a muggleborn added insult to the injury."

"This story has a tail, hasn't it?"

"Oh yes, it has. You see, mother and aunt Walburga didn't take their vindication out of uncle Orion's act of burning me off the family tree, revoking my fidelus rights on the knowledge of the Black Family Grimoire, and cursing me to never be able to carry either the Black name and name my spawn after celestial bodies."

"Wait – you mean to tell me Nymphadora isn't some Merlin-forsaken star in a forgotten corner of the universe? It is just your typical magical name of Greek or Roman descent? Do you mean to tell me that out of all the Geek and Roman names you could have chosen an archaic name from, you had to choose Nymphadora of all names? What on earth were the two of you thinking?!"

"Well, Dora dear," began Ted after sighing heavily.. "on our wedding day your grandmother Druella and great aunt Walburga came to protest against our marriage. When your mother said once again, in front of our bonder and an entire audience, that she didn't want to marry her cousin Regulus in favour of a muggleborn with actual prospects, because she thought said muggleborn would give her healthier children than Regulus ever could... They snapped."

Andromeda took her husbands hand and took over.

"Mother and aunt Walburga wasted no time at all. Aunt Walburga had uncle Orion waiting at the other end of the mirror, to clear me off the family-tree for once and for all. What's worse, they announced in front of the audience that attended our wedding that hereby I would be Andromeda No-name, and especially no relation to the Blacks. Then, they cursed both Ted and I barren."

Nymphadora raised an eyebrow.

"If you want to confess you did a blood adoption, now is the time."

"Don't be ridiculous, Dora dear. You have seen the photo's of my pregnancy, haven't you? After seven hours of excruciating labour, I will not tolerate any silly notions about you being adopted."

"But you just told me you both were cursed barren."

"Indeed we were. So your mother and I went to Greece, in search of the waters of the Nereids, or Nymphs as the muggles would call them, in the hope to prove ourselves as worthy enough to get an audience, with faith in the rumours of their sexual and fertility magic. Let me tell you, Veela allure won't bother you at all after the Nereid are through with you!"

"Ted," interjected Andromeda. "This is neither the time or place to reminisce the week we spend with the Nereid."

For a second, Ted looked annoyed to be ruthlessly awoken from his daydream before he spoke again.

"Right. So your mum and I were walking in Greece, hoping to find the Nereid and suddenly a chameleon falls down the tree, right into the water."

"...A chameleon?" Asked Nymphadora, feeling rather skeptic.

"Yes, so Andromeda spares no thought before she rushes into the water to save the poor thing from drowning. That act of human kindness endeared us to the Nereid, especially because they can sense intentions and sincerity." He smiled at his wife, who took this as her cue.

"After I put the chameleon safely on shore, the Nereid wasted no time pulling us into the depths of the water to fully expose us to and immerse us in their magics. It was overwhelming, intoxicating and arousing. They spent five days dissolving the curse your grandmother and great aunt put on the both of us. The sixth day they made us fertile again, and the seventh day, when you were conceived, they gifted you with a strong magic – the magic of the chameleon I saved."

Andromeda smiled softly at the memory.

"Of course, when you were born you did so in a typical fashion for methapmorphmagi, or so we read afterwards. It was a very dangerous delivery, and we couldn't have any more children than you. So I still didn't live my dream of giving birth to an entire quidditch team."

Silent with shock, Nymphadora couldn't do any more than nod.

Ted smiled kindly at his daughter.

"Not only does Nymphadora literally mean 'gift of the nymphs', we made the conscious choice of not naming you Nymphodora – the more common version – because we made the connection to Nymphomania as well, but also because we didn't want our daughter's name to have any connection to a name of some fourth century martyr turned saint and therefore a religion that saw many of our people burned on a pyre."

Andromeda smiled vindictively before she added her two knuts.

"Not to mention that the name Nymphadora is indeed always mistaken for the name of some celestial body, implying that we did indeed find a way to circumvent the curse of me and my descendants being able to name our children after celestial bodies. I know for a fact that my mother had a conniption when she read your name in the birth announcement in the Daily Prophet. It happened in the middle of the Diagon Alley, some friends were kind enough to show the memory."

Nymphadora looked confused.

"And why is that a good thing?"

We've managed to break the curse that should have made us spend our lives miserable and barren; they think we've managed to break the curse to name our children after celestial bodies. By default they will believe I can declare myself a daughter of the House of Black if I feel like it, and remember the curses from the grimoire they taught me. Why do you think Ted and I have spell-design as a hobby? We re-invent the curses I don't remember the how-to of. Even if we have to recreate them, and slightly alter them, they won't realize that when we cross wands. Mostly, they'll be scared shitless because they think we can overcome anything they throw at us.

"Again, why is that a good thing?" Nymphadora asked, still as confused as before.

"Because they believe we could easily have the upperhand even if we don't act on it. It looks like I wash my hands of the Black name, rather than the Black name washing it's hands of me. It's all power play, and at the end of the day that's the reason why they don't randomly curse any of us when we have the misfortune of meeting them in public."

"Hmmmpf."

"Dora dear?"

"Yes dad?"

"Do you understand and accept why we named you like this?"

"...Yes, but I still don't like it."

"And you are free to do so, but if you'd like, we'll just call you Dora from now on."

"Thanks dad. Hey, do you think you can fidelus the 'Nympha' part on my birth certificate?"

"Forget it, Dora."

The teen threw her arms up in exasperation, and stomped out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On ffdotnet, I read a story by 'The Mad Reviewer' called ['Jamie Evans and Fate's Fool'](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8175132/1/Jamie-Evans-and-Fate-s-Fool) (lovely fanfic, btw), and in the end of it, Madam Umbridge is portrayed as someone of a family that interbreeds with Marshes, a creation of H.P. Lovecraft. While I must admit that I still haven't read Lovecraft, the way the Mad Mad Reviewer portrayed Umbridges affinity with the Marsh family was brilliant.
> 
> * A concept shamelessly stolen from the parody ['Oh God Not Again!'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4701869/chapters/10736366) by Sarah1281, another brilliant fanfic!


	2. Thank you, Fenrir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguably, Fenrir Greyback should be thanked when all is said and done...  
> 

01-07-1996

Harry was sitting on a swing on the Little Whinging playground, having a pity party about Sirius' death – nothing could ease the pain, not even the vindication he might have gotten otherwise out of the knowledge of the insignificant part he had played in making Voldemort lose his concentration in his duel with Dumbledore, which gave the latter just enough of an edge to do the former in. Permanently this time. Of course, the media liked to get it all out of proportion, and he had his name in the spotlight, again.

How he longed for anonymity. What did he care if people could recognize him or not? It only ever brought him misery.

His fame had no influence whatsoever on the fact that his godfather was dead, and would remain so. His fame certainly didn't help his situation with the Dursleys – if they'd knew they'd laugh in his face telling him just how pathetic he was, they'd probably even conquer their hatred of all things unnatural in order to make him a cash cow and milk his fame for all the money it was worth.

The filthy hypocrites.

Suddenly there was a rustle from behind. Before he could register what was happening, a huge hand with filthy yellow nails came from behind with a handkerchief.

…

The next thing he knew, he woke up with a pounding headache. What happened to him? Why was he so cold? As he tried to look at himself he noticed that he was laying face down on a damp concrete floor, naked and shackled. Not a favourable position to find oneself in, he couldn't help but think sardonically. Before he could further assess his situation or even search for possible ways to escape he heard soft footsteps, and soon, there was a pair of bare, hairy feet in front of his face, with filthy, yellow nails to go with the ones on the huge hand he had seen just before he had passed out.

The owner of the feet crouched down and grabbed Harry's hair and yanked it roughly, successfully bending Harry's head backwards in an awkward position, straining his neck painfully. In doing so the individual ensured that Harry saw that his attacker was naked as well. And that it wasn't just his hands and feet that were huge. Harry knew instantly that this was a Very Bad Situation to find himself in. Finally he was eye to eye with his assailant. Amber eyes that showed lycanthropy, and an expression that didn't promise anything good. It was a horrendous face that smiled lecherously at him. He knew that face, he had seen it before in the Daily Prophet's issue about mass breakout from Azkaban. It was Fenrir Greyback, one of the few Death Eaters elusive enough to remain at large.

Harry gulped.

"Good instincts, whelp. I smell your fear, and you are wise to fear me."

"What do you want?" Harry asked, sounding braver than he felt.

"I want what my Lord has promised me."

"What have I got to do with that? He's dead, in case you haven't noticed!"

Harry had the sinking feeling that what would be done to him this time would not be another resurrection ritual of Lord Voldemort.

"Why, whelp," said Fenrir, while his lecherous smile only grew; showing a pointy, grimy denture which would have Mr and Mrs Granger recoil in sheer horror. "My Lord promised me your flesh."

The man suddenly slammed Harry's head down into the floor, effectively breaking his nose in the process, and mounted Harry, who was trying his hardest to keep his wits. It was clear that he relished in Harry's helplessness as he took his time, simply enjoying the sound of the trouble the boy had with breathing because he sat on his back. One hand squeezed the boy's forehead while another squeezed his jaw, making it in such a way that he couldn't utter a sound. The man with the bestial appearance pushed Harry's head to one side so that one cheek now lied in the pool of his own blood which his smashed nose just had provided. The werewolf licked over the entire length of Harry's face, grinning at the sound of his increasing rapid breath and the futile struggling and squirming underneath him.

"Normally," Fenrir said, "you might be a bit old for my tastes, but I have already fed you a potion for that. Now you look about half of your age you are a lot more than appetizing to me. And I have drank a potion myself, so I'll be at it _all night_. I don't know if you're aware of the moon cycle, so I'll erase all doubts for you: tonight will be a full moon. I will not stop when I change shape, and when that happens, my teeth will already be buried deeply into your neck. That pretty unmarred flesh of yours will be ripped in all directions when my jaw widens and elongates while my teeth grow. The scar I will give you will be a true piece of art. Know that I will love it if you scream, and that every wriggle you will make in the hopes of getting closer to freedom will excite me even more. I promise you that this will undoubtedly be the longest night of your miserable existence."

Knowing that what came next would be inevitable, Harry began to cry silently.

Fenrir's lecherous grin suddenly turned maniacal while he hit his victim at the back of his head.

"Whelp! You have nothing to cry about yet! You were part in my Lord's downfall, and you will regret it. If it's the last thing I do I will make you rue the day you have learned of my name," he all but growled. With those words he positioned himself, plunged into the crying boy, savoring the pained screams that followed. Fenrir Greyback made good on his promise.

…

As luck would have it, assaulting Harry turned out to be the last thing Fenrir did, indeed. Tired of an entire night as a wolf, of an entire night giving in to his physical need for debauchery, of the transformation, the man had been too out of it; too tired to fight the quickly assembled rescue team that the order had thrown together.

Everyone was amazed that Harry was still alive. He was brought to Saint Mungo's in his eight year old body – courtesy of Greyback – with his scar glamoured as they all thought it was the most efficient way for Harry to get the best treatment and the most privacy at that.

His injuries spoke for themselves. Half of his neck had been torn apart, and it had been festering ever since the moment he was rescued. His left ear was bitten and shredded beyond repair, and the healers said they'd need the entire month to work on his right arm that had been used as a chew toy.

His nose turned out to be a trickier injury than he thought as well. They had to reset the bones properly before they could magically knit them together. There wasn't a single rib that wasn't cracked after a night under Fenrir's weight. His pulverized pelvis was terribly hard for the healers to mend, because they were scared of missing some pieces of the bone. They said it could be disastrous if there remained any before they gave him skelegrow, or Merlin forbid, before he changed into a wolf and all the bits of bone would transfigure themselves separately. Crazily enough, the anal tearing the was easiest to heal.

"Wizards haven't got an ounce of common sense," the muggleborn healer had said to Harry. "The things they have tried to shove up their arse, or the kind of activities they choose to participate in after doing their spousal duty and produce an heir are truly mindboggling. It is one of the first things we learn during healer training, and the first thing they want to saddle interns with."

In fact, his bones were in such a sorry state that the healers were discussing the advantages of vanishing every last piece of bone and cartilage in him, and regrowing it all with a royal overdose of skelegrow. Not that it already was an option right now. The Order had been very ambiguous when it came to Harry's identity, or whomever had guardianship over him. And while Remus Lupin couldn't be cursed away from Harry's bedside if they tried, it was clear that the man had no parental rights over Harry. The only thing that the healers could do immediately was having a master in the mind magics visit him. The man had been kind enough to erase the emotions that came with that horrid experience. It ensured that he knew the facts of what happened, how it happened, and what he had been through, but not the emotional baggage. Again, the man couldn't obliviate more than the emotions without parental consent, and this was as much as he could help Harry.

The new lycanthrope didn't mind that part though. He was glad that he could remember the cold facts about how his body was mangled to such a degree. It'd be worse to end up with such a body and have no recollection of how it ended up in that state. But he could still remember it all, however abstract he might find those memories had become. That being said, he was even gladder that he didn't have the fear of human contact and flashbacks he had before his emotions had been obliviated. The kind that muggle rape-victims had to deal with.

Whomever came up with the idea to obliviate the painful emotions rather than memories, leaving a clinical detachment deserved an Order of Merlin, in Harry's opinion.

Remus spend as much time as possible at his bedside, shamelessly milking the fact that the pediatric department that was treating Harry, which meant that visiting hours were a lot more flexible. Remus made sure to speak a lot with Harry, about the damage that Fenrir Greyback had done to the two of them, about acknowledging the wolf that was constantly there in the back of his head, rumbling in the background. How to deal with the wolf, and the strong instincts that would inevitably surge with them from time to time. His new physiology, and what to take into account before undertaking anything in living his life he wouldn't have thought twice about otherwise. About the legislation that would restrict him left and right to hinder him in everyday life. The racism he'd face. Remus did everything to ensure Harry would be ready when he'd leave the hospital.

Remus was still by his bedside when a week into his hospital stay, a representative of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures appeared. She was nothing short of the Spanish Inquisition trying to make sure it wasn't Remus who had bit him – no, he was the child the Order had found while apprehending Greyback. Yes, Greyback had sired Remus as well, but in no way Remus wanted to subjugate the child with his evil werewolfishness. Harry had trouble not to grab his secretly hidden wand and curse the woman into next week. The saddest thing about it all was that Remus couldn't even muster the righteous indignation about being treated like that. Would he end up like that?

"You will be registered as werewolf 01071996-UK-02. Remember that number. You will need it for all your legal forms, documentation, and you are required to make yourself known under that registration number when seeking education, jobs, notify all magical sentient beings within 5 miles of your living and/or transforming space, and you are required to make yourself known immediately should you travel abroad. In that case, the country to which you are traveling will notify you of your restrictions. Capisce?" The antagonistic tone couldn't be missed.

"Capisce."

"Good, next point; werewolves cannot belong to distinguished pureblood lines, so if you are carrying a magical surname, I'm afraid you'll have to choose a new one – _it's the law_."

Harry couldn't help but wonder whether Umbridge had learned to smile from this woman.

He could see the malice in the woman's eyes. She enjoyed this. His eyes darted from the woman to Remus, silently asking confirmation.

With a sigh, the man nodded. "Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C: No werewolf is allowed to associate their name with a pureblood name. That happened after some Russian werewolf managed to use his prominent family name as an instrument in the Revolution to get close to the right person in order to do his part. It scared entire ruling class of magical Europe, and no werewolf was allowed to have a magical name anymore. Mind you, the fact that it was one individual that hung out with a group of idealistic muggles and squibs is completely ignored..."

"Huh... I'm always learning something around you, Remus. Ma'am, as an orphan I'm currently living with my muggle relatives who abhor magic, I'm certain that they won't let me darken their doorstep more then I already do – as a werewolf I won't be welcome there. Could I have another werewolf have me adopt me, like Remus Lupin for example?"

"If the dog wants to share it's doghouse, it's his problem." She said with a derisive snort. "In fact, having parents or guardians not wanting a werewolf in their home is normal business. Here, if you fill this form with his name, and your new name, it'll file itself the moment you magically claim your new name."

Harry realized that he too was already letting the barbs slide, it just wasn't worth the fight. Especially not with the satisfaction he felt from Remus' pleased smile who had already accepted the papers and started signing them in the appropriate places.

"As an orphan who is about to change his name, how do I prevent a name mix-up with Gringotts?"

"Send a legit notification to Gringotts. It has to have arrived before you change your name, because you are required by law to magically notify your old name as dead within the next fifteen minutes. A bit of a hassle, but what can you do? There's this pesky little law that says you must change your name before I leave, these things can't wait, you see." Her nasty smile grew.

All three of them knew what wasn't said. This was the way people financially crippled werewolves the moment they became one. Bluffed away when the Ministry comes stampeding through and ruin everything you know, one moment of inattention, and you have no way of claiming you were indeed who you were. After all, you'd have a new magical name. The old you was officially dead and magically declaring someone dead being what it is, everyone who was supposed to know would know immediately. Bye bye bank account.

Harry raised an eyebrow while he addressed his guardian-to-be, "I think I can see how you ended up with a name as Remus Lupin, I had always wondered, but I didn't want to pry."

"What can I say," Remus said with a wry smile, "I was five and had to sort it all out by myself because my muggle-mum was screaming herself hoarse at my wizard-dad about racism, nazi's and keeping his apartheid-sentiments away from her son, no matter what species he might be. She couldn't even file a divorce afterward because they'd never let a werewolf live with a muggle. There's a reason why I can sympathize with the antipathy of the family you grew up with," Remus added darkly, though the werewolf let it slide as if he were an enlightened Zen-Buddhist. He smiled immediately afterward.

"On a completely different note though... did you know that a Patronus is recognized as a legally accepted way for fast notifications?"

"Really now?" Harry asked, starting to smile as well.

"Oh yes," Remus nodded with an even bigger smile, "I know you know _Expecto Patronum_ , but do you know the ventriloquism spell?"

"Of course, the twins had a whole lot of fun embarrassing me with it, until I turned the tables on them."

Remus snorted. "I imagine. Try _Ventriloquim Patronum_ , still concentrate on the happy memory but throw the element of wanting to speak on a different location in."

"That simple?" Harry asked amazed.

"That simple." Remus assured him with a smile.

"Oh yes, and since the ministry wants you to preform magic today, all reasonable magic will be allowed."

"And notifying Gringotts is very reasonable indeed," Harry said with an ever growing smile.

"Good thing I made sure you're able to cast the patronus with both hands." Remus said, looking at Harry's horribly mangled right arm.

"I'll say!"

"Kid, you still have to come up with a name." The nasty woman from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures said, feeling far too out of place with how cheery the kid was despite having his whole life ruined, and having no way of being able to contact Gringotts in time – an eight year old with a Patronus, pfft.

"So Remus, may I assume your last name?"

"Of course, cub. In fact, now infection isn't an issue, I'd be happy to blood adopt you even. How would you like a new face with a new name?"

"I don't know, you're rather springing this on me. I'd have to mull it over."

"That's alright, cub. So, what about Laurence, it can get shortened to Larry?"

"Hmm, I like it. Laurence Lupin. Nice alliteration as well. Now how about a middle name..."

"Kid," the nasty woman interrupted their happy conversation. _You are not allowed to use your parents names._ Not even variations on your mother's or grandmother's maiden name. You are not allowed to sully a decent pureblood family. Don't even think about it!"

"Well," Remus said with a smile, "a dear friend of mine died and I would be honoured if you'd take his name as a middle name."

Harry's eyes widened a bit and knew this byplay was to keep his identity secret until it was too late for the ministry chit.

"Why Remus," Harry began with a big smile, "if you take me in and are becoming the next best thing to a father figure I think I should honour the names you want to give me."

Remus' smile widened when he realized that Harry was on to him.

"Laurence Sirius Lupin, or Larry Lupin for short. I like it, cub."

"Me too."

"Then let me write it down first... There. These papers now say I'm adopting Laurence Sirius Lupin – sign there please, thank you – no escaping that name now, Larry. Now you only have to notify Gringotts first."

"Don't worry, I will. Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C, was it?"

The woman and Remus nodded.

Harry surprised the nasty woman by drawing a wand – after all, he still looked like an eight year old, and he and Remus had done nothing to disabuse her from that notion – and surprised her even more with producing a text-book perfect patronus.

" _Ventriloquim Patronum_ , to whomever it may concern: I, Harry James Potter, am by the Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C forced to give up my pureblood name, and would like to formally let it be known that henceforth I shall be known as Laurence Sirius Lupin. I repeat, to whomever it may concern, Harry James Potter's name will be legally changed to Laurence Sirius Lupin in accordance to the Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C." With that he directed his patronus to Gringotts.

The woman of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was gaping like a fish.

"But... But... I... You..."

"Should I expect more reactions like that, what with the Boy-Who-Lived or whatever it is they call me nowadays suddenly being a scary werewolf?" Asked Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"I suppose so." Remus confirmed. "Then again, within a few minutes you can no longer claim you ever were Harry Potter. Too bad Lily isn't alive to witness this. She'd have raised hell to the point she'd have scared the entire Wizengamot into submission in order to keep you a Potter."

"Really?"

"Really. Your mum was scary!"

"You never really told me much about her, always about dad."

"I mainly hung out with your dad, but that doesn't mean I can't tell you stories about your mum. I should tell you about the time Sirius and James thought to be funny with her knickers –"

"That's it. Ritual. Now." The woman said through clenched teeth. "You'll need to swear a magical vow to shed your old name, and gain a new name. Here you'll find the exact wording." With that she shoved him a parchment in his hand.

 _I [your full pureblood name] swear on my life and magic that I shall no longer be [your full pureblood name] and that henceforth I shall be [your chosen name]. On my life and magic, I [your chosen name] do so swear._ Harry read. He would have shrugged if his mauled body allowed it.

"I Harry James Potter swear on my life and magic that I shall no longer be Harry James Potter and that henceforth I shall be Laurence Sirius Lupin. On my life and magic, I Laurence Sirius Lupin do so swear."

Before the woman, who had finally gained her wits, could rip the adoption papers apart, they filed themselves, making Harry – _Larry_ – officially Remus' ward.

"This won't be the end of that, Potter, I assure you." She bit through her teeth, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

"Why ma'am, haven't you been paying attention? You're sullying a good pureblood name like that. The name is Lupin. _Do keep up_."

The next thing the young lycanthrope knew, he was staring at a shaking wand between his eyes.

"I think you'll find out you will lose an awful lot of privileges you have taken for granted 'till this day, you filthy animal. If I say you were about to attack me... _Lupin, –_ even crippled and bed bound as you are now – they'll believe my word over yours. From this day on you will not be regarded as fully human. A House Elf will get more respect at the cash register than you. And I'll be there – "

Suddenly, madame Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was staring down the business end of a wand herself.

"Out, you bigoted bitch, out! I won't have you here! Always ransacking through our wards, upsetting patients who are here because they need bed rest, begone you foul woman!"

A lot of high pitched screaming ensued from both parties involved, making the two of the werewolves wince, and after Larry finally declares Harry James Potter dead (while the nurse can't hear whom he is declaring dead due to a nicely timed M _uffliato_ spell from Remus) the Ministry Menace finally leaves.

The nurse did a whole set of diagnostic charms just to make sure he hadn't been overexerted by that short mandatory visit, all the while muttering about how it was the same thing every month with those nasty ministry bigots who couldn't give their patients a second of peace or dignity, and cute little children who deserved better.

When Remus and Larry were finally alone, they both cleared their throat awkwardly, not knowing to do with the silence.

"Well Larry, it always was a toss up to whom of us Sirius would bequeath his ancestral home, but I'll go by Gringotts to check to make sure just in case. What colours would you like on your bedroom walls?"

"Give the walls a nice white undercoating. I think I want to paint them myself. Do you think you could get me a book on how to animate drawings and such?"

"Sure thing, cub. I'll be back with some other books as well, after I have notified Dumbledore that the cat is out of the bag."

"Please do, Remus. Say, could you ask Dumbledore as well if he'd want to enroll another werewolf at Hogwarts, I wouldn't want to miss out on school because a technical detail like enrollment is overseen."

"Sure thing cub, I'll see you in the afternoon."

"Until then, Remus."

…

A full week after her nephew Harry disappeared from the Little Whinging playground, Petunia Dursley received a black parchment letter, with the news that her nephew Harry James Potter had been declared dead that very morning, and that there was no body or ashes for her to claim. Not to mention that she couldn't inherit a single thing due her status as a muggle. A full week after her nephew disappeared, five days after those ruddy freaks came to get all his stuff, just a notification that he was dead. Hours later Vernon came home from his job to find her still staring at the letter in disbelief, not truly seeing it, while remembering the last fifteen years, and wondering if things could have been different.

…

Larry was amazed how quickly his treatment went now the Healers of Saint Mungo's finally had a name, and a guardian. In consultation with the healers on Larry's case, who had finally been let in on the fact that Fenrir Greyback had de-aged him several years, his history of years of malnutrition, they decided to let Remus blood-adopt him, remove all bones, regrow them, pump him up to the brim with vitamines and everything else that was needed to regrow to the age and length a sixteen year old was supposed to be.

Remus told him he wouldn't be bored in his hospital stay because he had enrolled him for his OWL's – he had no business with the dead Harry Potter's OWL's after all – and that he'd tutor him in arithmancy and ancient runes so he'd finally be able to do his OWL's decently.

...

30-07-1996

Larry Lupin had finally grown into his age, length and weight. No longer he was a pipsqueak. In fact, he was a full foot taller than the day before Fenrir had kidnapped him. His added length didn't exactly give him an intimidating posture – after all, he took after his father Remus – but he could live with the person that stared back at him in the mirror these days. Before they had started his intensive treatment they even had a cursebreaker tied under heavy oaths break a curse on his head, and ever since Harry felt lighter than he had ever felt, even with the new presence of a wolf that was always growling in the back of his mind!

He was happy that the healers had declared him healthy enough to have his first transformation in the vicinity of his new father, and he only had to come back the following morning for an additional checkup. It would have been on his birthday too, if he and Remus hadn't decided to put down the day Remus had blood-adopted him – the eighth of July – but that was neither here or there. Today he would walk out of the hospital with a new face, new name, and even a new family.

While he was a little scared about his first transformation, whom would he have rather by his side than Remus? Larry smiled, everything was going to be alright. Between the twelfth and sixteenth of August he would sit his OWL's for Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, DADA, Astronomy, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, History, Divination, COMC, and Muggle Studies and with the stress-free environment he found himself in – not to mention the hours of tutoring of Remus in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes and everyone Remus enlisted to tutor Larry for subjects Remus was convinced 'Larry' could do better in than 'Harry' – he actually believed he'd be able to get decent scores.

Things were looking up. More so than they had ever done for Harry Potter.

If it weren't for the fact that they had to obliviate what he had felt during that humiliating encounter with Fenrir Greyback in order to ensure he could continue to function like a normal human being, he'd almost want to thank the tosser. In his gruesome attempt to revenge, he had handed Larry the means to everything he had ever wanted on a silver platter.

…

01-09-1996

Albus Dumbledore loved theater and dramatics more than he cared to admit, so he relished deeply in the sad face he could put on before he began to speak in a grave tone. He even didn't mind the little beetle on his shoulder. After all, he had invited it. For once, he wished for wild speculation.

"Welcome to another year in Hogwarts, it is with great regret that I have to inform you that one of your peers has been attacked by the notorious werewolf Fenrir Greyback during the summer holidays. While he survived the initial attack, it was in accordance to the Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917 subsection C, that Harry James Potter was forced to abscond his pureblood name, and to declare the persona Harry James Potter dead."

The gasps of horror and outrage were more than he could have hoped for.

"On a completely different notion, after last year's disaster with Professor Umbridge, the Ministry has been more than willing to not only abrogate all the Ministerial Decrees, but grant me a substantial amount of leeway while searching for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. In the light of the trials that the student whom formally was Harry Potter will have to pass, I couldn't help but think of another victim of Greyback."

Immediately murmurs were heard from everywhere within the Great Hall.

"As some of you might have guessed, I have done my very best to try to convince Professor Remus Lupin to teach another year at Hogwarts. Regretfully, Professor Lupin was most hesitant because he felt he had an obligation to his newly adopted son, Laurence Sirius Lupin, whom was bitten just before he turned sixteen this summer. I'll have you know that Professor Lupin can negotiate like no other, and drove me an exceptionally hard bargain. But the only way he'd be willing to teach, was if his son was granted a place at Hogwarts in order to finish his NEWT education."

"As I felt it was morally reprehensible to deprive you all from yet another year of decent Defense education, I had no choice but to accept the delightful lad Larry Lupin in our midst. The hat has already placed him in Gryffindor, and I wager he'll fit right in. Enjoy your meal!"

...

"HARRY!" Screeched Hermione while squeezing the life out of him. "I thought you were... Hedwig appeared without a letter... Stayed for an entire month... Nobody would say anything..." She sniffled.

"Ouch girl, this new package comes with supernatural hearing, _do you mind?_ And for the record, Harry's dead. I'm Larry."

Larry decided to ignore the fact that she'd cuffed his head in response and grinned stupidly at her.

She grinned just as stupidly back at him.

"Hi, Larry, I'm Hermione."

"Nice to meet you, Hermione."

…

"Bloody hell... You always draw the short straw, don't you?"

"Err... I don't know about that, actually, Remus was finally in a position to adopt me. I'm quite happy with that."

"That's the most important bit... Brilliant mate, you and your dad are the perfect excuse to have mum refrain from using the posh silverware which inevitably leads to nagging about how I eat. I don't care how, but from now on, you and your dad will be at all the diner parties if it's up to me. Just you wait!"

...

"Why anyone might doubt who you once might have been is beyond me, Larry. I've never seen such a large-scale case of Wackspurt infestations. I say it makes a lot of people act rather loopy... They are all caught up in rather cyclic thought patterns. You should have heard Ginny or the girls in my dorm – mourning the loss of the 'national sex symbol' Harry Potter, then fantasizing over the 'deliciously feral' Larry Lupin, weeping because they'd be crushing on a werewolf, and mourning Harry Potter again. Very odd behaviour indeed."

Larry sniggered at Luna's blunt description of her yearmates.

"Not to mention, You certainly don't strike me as the lonely orphan boy Harry Potter used to be. I'm happy you have found a family after being turned into a werewolf, Larry Lupin."

"As horrible as the experience was, I can't deny I've gained a lot."

"You've been a good friend in your past life, Larry. I'd love to be your friend in this one."

"Thanks, Luna."

"No, _thank you_."

…

Larry knew that sort of light flash. He took a deep breath, and turned around, momentarily forgetting his state of undress.

"Colin Creevey, if you don't put that camera away, so help me Merlin I'll smash the bloody thing to pieces..!"

Smelling Colin's arousal didn't make things better. It made him acutely aware that he was wearing nothing but his underwear. Larry groaned while pinching his nose.

...

"Please give me your urine."

"Excuse me, Neville?!"

"Sorry, H... Larry. The Sopophorous plant grows mighty well on Mooncalf dung, and it is rumored to truly flourish when watered with werewolf urine. I never dared to ask professor Lupin... But seeing as we have been friends for quite some time..?"

...

Katie Bell looked up and down, assessing Larry as if he were a piece of meat. While he was completely dressed this time, he felt very exposed.

"You're taller but lithe... Still a seekers build, I suppose."

Larry didn't say a word.

"McGonagall give you your broom back?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Katie."

"Cut the crap, Harry."

"Larry."

"Larry," the girl amended.

"Well?" She demanded when Larry didn't answer her question directly.

"Well," Larry allowed, "after the tragic death of Harry Potter McGonagall gave all his earthly possessions to my father, since he was the only one alive and not a traitor who was named in the last Potter will – Harry Potter didn't have a will you see – and well, dad isn't much of a flier so he thought it would be an utter waste to leave a firebolt gathering dust... He couldn't bear the thought of selling a broom with so much sentimental value, you see..."

Katie snorted.

"Welcome back on the team, Potter."

"Lupin!" Larry corrected her, feeling annoyed. "But I'm sorry to say I can't play."

"What do you mean you can't play?" Katie said, sounding rather dangerous.

"My dominant hand used to be my right one, the werewolf that attacked me used it as a chewing toy. It still isn't functioning properly. I'd have to catch the snitch with my left hand, which I haven't been trained to do. I'd be a liability to the team victory."

Katie made an angry sound and walked up to him, and started to poke him in the chest with her finger.

"Larry Lupin, I don't care if you start to catch all the snitches by swallowing them, or clamp the snitch between your feet, you had better work on it! You're the best that Gryffindor has to offer, for Merlin's sake!"

"Yes, ma'am..."

...

Larry trudged off the quidditch pitch, feeling bad over his lousy performance. It was a marvel he had managed to catch the snitch for Gryffindor at all. What Katie had been thinking to demand him back on the team he'd never know... He had half the mind to quit the team today, but how does one try to convey such a message to a woman that could only be described as 'Oliver Wood, Mark Two'? He was so lost in depressing thoughts that he didn't notice someone closing in on him until it was too late.

The man seemed to have a wider smile than Gilderoy Lockhart, which was quite a feat, really.

"Hi, my name is Ragmar Dorkins, and I am the manager of the Chudley Cannons! Have you ever considered playing quidditch professionally?"

Larry gaped at the man.

"Didn't you see me try to reach for the snitch with a defect arm? I almost wasted my team's for victory. Why on earth would you want me on your team?"

Dorkins shuffled uncomfortably.

"Honestly, you'd be a whole improvement to our current seeker. Galvin Gudgeon has developed a serious case of performance anxiety... It doesn't do the team any good, I tell you. We could use a fresh breeze of air... A new seeker, a new talent. We've already cleared your superhuman reflexes and sight with the International Quidditch Association, and the IQA told us that if you can take veritaserum on the fact that that mangled arm of your used to be your dominant arm they could assume your handicap weighs against you being physically better than human beings that are normally only allowed to play professional quidditch. You'd be the first werewolf to do so, doesn't that sound awesome?!"

Larry frowned.

"Mr... Dorkins, was it? You are very enthusiastic... What about my not being able to play on full moon?"

"Galvin would be a second string seeker, so he could still seek when we need him to. We just want you in the air whenever you can be - you're the best we can get. Anyhow, you're back at the castle's doors and that's how far we quidditch managers and scouts can go - so give it a serious thought, all right? You can mail me personally - here's a card - whenever you have decided. Really, we'd love to have you on the team."

Glad that the man wasn't allowed any further, Larry happily waved the man goodbye and quickly went inside.

"Larry," asked Ron, sounding breathless.

"Was that Ragmar Dorkins of the Chudley Cannons?"

"Err... Yes, why?"

"Did he ask you to play for the team?"

"Yes," said Larry with growing dread.

"You do know that I can't forgive you if you don't play for them, right?"

Larry wanted nothing more but to bash his head into the wall.

...

"Still Marauder-progeny defiling my classroom, I suppose," Snape sighed.

"Sir, I'm adopted!"

"How did you even manage to get enough OWL's to be allowed in my classroom? I know Potter failed them..." Snape asked, ignoring Larry's interjection.

"Sir, I don't know why everyone feels the need to act as if I were Potter, but let me tell you that I take offense in that. Please cease to do so!"

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor! And research a spell that dampens your delicate smelling organ. If you faint after being overwhelmed by the substances we'll be working with, I will fail you."

…

"For Pity's sake, dad! What were you thinking, signing me up for twelve NEWT level classes?!"

"Why Larry, we don't have anything to our name and you certainly haven't got any coattails to ride... Not to mention that there will be a whole lot of people who won't give you the time of their day solely based on the fact that you're a werewolf... You'll find that you need a pretty damn impressive resume to get anywhere in life... Starting with your grades. And I know you can do it because your OWL's were excellent. I won't tolerate any slacking off, Laurence Lupin!"

"But twelve courses..?!"

"Well, I certainly don't want my son to grow lazy and complacent like my pseudo-nephew Harry used to be. It hurt to watch how he always used to strive for mediocrity. I will see to it that you work for your marks!"

"Damn it!"

…

As Ron, Larry and Hermione walked into Hogsmeade, they were surprised to see the amount of reporters waiting. There wasn't anything special happening, was there?

It soon became clear why they were here: they've heard rumors about The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Bitten-By-A-Werewolf-And-Had-To-Declare-Himself-Dead. Or whatever they were writing about Harry Potter these days. Larry found he couldn't bring himself to care.

Even when they came running at him, yelling his previous surname.

When the media-vultures finally gave him an opportunity to answer their countless questions, Larry made a show of looking around him.

"I see no 'Mr Potter' you speak of. Are you sure you've got your facts straight? I heard the kid died, you know."

Before he could speak any further, they were addressing him as Mr Lupin, while asking the same questions.

Theatrically, Laurence furrowed his brow.

"I think this ridiculous notion that my life before I was bitten used to be that of a celebrity has to end. I can't begin to describe how absurd it is. Not to mention, I am Remus Lupin's son in flesh and blood. I don't even look like Potter. Where do you people get off coming up with crazy stuff like that? And clearly you lot don't even have gotten your facts straight about werewolves as well. Due to the Anti-werewolf legislation of 1917, subsection C, even if I were – Larry tried to make a spectacle of himself, sniggering to point out the absurdity of him having been The-Boy-Who-Lived – even if I were a celebrity in my past life, the point would be completely moot because I'd be setting myself up for prosecution if I'd go around claiming I was born to a prominent pureblood line. Frankly, I'm appalled that you lot try to set me up like this. I'll have you know that I'm perfectly happy being alive and plan to continue that way; mainly by not breaking the oath on my life and magic that I am, as a matter of fact, Laurence Sirius Lupin, and nobody else. The nerve of you people... Jeeze!"

"For once and for all: the name," Larry carefully enunciated in a tone that implied he would not tolerate any contradictions, "is Laurence Sirius Lupin. I will respond to that or 'Larry'."

He looked at the baffled gaggle of reporters.

"Nothing else. Are. We. Clear?" He all but growled the question, for the first time truly showing his nature as a werewolf.

Without waiting for an answer Larry shook his head and dragged the now madly giggling Hermione and Ron with him.

"Silly reporters..."

…

A lot of girls had been curious for quite some time, but it was Pansy Parkinson of all people who acted on her burning curiosity. She conjured a cute harmless little immature smooth green snake, that couldn't have been larger than eight inches very near where Larry was eating. Her effort had payed off. Immediately, Larry forgot his meal, and was busy cooing in parseltongue at the confused little thing.

"He is a parselmouth," Lavender moaned.

"I've always wondered if a girl could reap the benefits from that..." Parvati mused.

"Forget the parselmouth effect, think about the stamina werewolves are rumored to have," Padma said, whom had been paying attention from the other table. Several girls began to blush and wriggle their bums on the benches.

Between the girls all caught in their private fantasies, boys trying to inch away from the parselmouth-werewolf ( _evil!_ ), and Larry caught up in speaking with the cute little snake Pansy provided, nobody noticed Remus Lupin sneak up behind his son.

"Why, Larry, can you smell the arousal you cause among your peers? I say, if I'd known being a werewolf was such a turn on I'd be screaming it from the highest rooftops when I was a teen." Remus remarked casually, thoroughly embarrassing him.

Larry soon was red as a beet and tried to duck his head.

Remus smiled at him, before raising his voice to make himself heard over the entire Great Hall.

"Before any of you dose my son with lust potions, or worse: amortentia, to have their wicked way with him; I'd like to point out that the moment a werewolf is caught up too much in the act and accidentally mars the skin with either tooth or nail, the partner will have a scar for life, and a partial infection that will have to be registered at the Ministry of Magic. So please keep the risk of permanent love-bites and a desire to eat your steak extremely rare in the back of your mind before you something tremendously stupid... Say Larry, are you going to keep that snake?"

 

 


	3. Rita's quill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries to weasel himself out of the interview Rita cons him into giving during the wand weighing ceremony.

**"Hey...my eyes aren't 'glistening with the ghosts of my past'!"**

When the dratted quill didn't stop writing nonsense, Harry suddenly thought of a way out. He looked at Rita with big eyes, hoping he looked genuinely taken aback.

"That quill... It thinks for it self. Where are its brains?"

Rita looked surprised, and kept silent, unsure of how to react to such a question.

"I don't trust objects that can think for their selves, let alone objects that are capable of making up juicy sensationalist stories by themselves. Ma'am, that quill is pure evil, and as such I would not want to be near that... that... _thing!_ "

Harry stood up, and stomped out of the cupboard while looking as indignant as possible while going straight to his Headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Do you remember that conversation we had after the basilisk debacle?"

Hearing everybody in the room but Dumbledore squawk at the word 'baslisik', was just divine vindication for Harry. That would serve that French tart to call him a _'little boy'_. Whether he was a willing participant in the tournament or not, they would take him serious.

"We have spoken about quite a few things after you've slain that basilisk, Harry, you have got to help me here."

"Our talk about things thinking for it-selves, not seeing where it keeps its brains? I oughtn't to trust such things, because they are generally very dark magic?"

"Yes..." Nodded Dumbledore slowly, not quite understanding what that had to do with the Triwizard Tournament interview.

Harry smirked while he once again drew himself up to his full length.

"Ms Skeeter uses a quill that thinks for itself and I find it quite disconcerting. Professor, are such magics even _allowed_ on the school premises?"

Dumbledore finally caught on and began to smirk as well.

"Why, Mr Potter, I think you are quite right. Please excuse me until I escort Ms Skeeter out of the castle since such dubious objects are most certainly a bad influence on the students and oughtn't to be in the castle..."

Harry was convinced that his headmaster actually managed to obliviate the disgusting woman. The article about the wand weighing ceremony was very short and factual, and about all four champions. Not even a word about a certain basilisk. But that didn't stop the three champions from looking at him warily.


	4. NOT a marriage law!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, it's not!

_Hermione cringed as she looked at the numerous reporters in front of her. Each major publishing magazine and every magical newspaper was present. And what she would say would also be live on the WNN. She'd be vilified in the very near future. She'd be put away as the woman that forced entire generations to prostitute themselves by the ministry. Damn Kingsley for giving her this job. Damn her for accepting it. But she was the head of the committee, and she had already relayed the plans to the ministry and Wizengamot and while nobody liked it – they all had agreed unanimously that it had to be done. But nobody would remember every man and woman who put their autograph under this law, no, they would remember Hermione the Homewrecker. She just knew it._

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this press conference. As you all know, a year ago interim minister Kingsley Shackebolt started the For All People committee – to which I will refer as the FAP committee from henceforth – in order to see just how poorly the population of Magical Brittan is faring, and to form a think tank that would present solutions for any long term problems we might foresee.

The last year I have had several research-teams doing investigations to the severity and the aftermath of the civil war with Voldemort, specifically what damage the terrorist and his terrorist organization have done to our demography. Suffice to say, they have successfully ruined it beyond repair. Therefore I am glad to say that FAP's think tank did look at the problem from all angles – and even put the research-teams to work with whole new research goals for background information for their problem solving – and FAP found a solution!

Let me first address two vicious rumors that have been going around for the last year:

 _No, there will NOT be a marriage law._ We have just come out of a civil war, the stupidest thing we could do is force our people – who are all nursing a grudge of their own – to marry people whom they might have been up in arms against thirteen months ago.

To the other vicious rumour that has been going around:

Yes, we as the British Magical Populace are on the brink of extinction, no matter how meticulously we'd find our partners, within the next three generations our children's children would all be producing squibs because the gene pool is simply too small. On our own we will not survive.

However, do not despair. FAP has found a solution that will ensure that we, as a magical nation, will not perish.

This morning, something unprecedented has happened: Not a single person within the Ministry of Magic, and our Wizengamot has voted against the law called 'Reproduction Project'. It was passed unanimously.

What the law Reproduction Project basically entails is that every magical human - and every sentient being that has at the very least one magical human grandparent - within the age-group of eighteen and sixty-eight – the fertile ages of the magical populace – is required by law to carry three children to term. Men will not be exempt from this law, because we are delighted to announce that Norway's famous gay potioneer Emil Olsen sold us the usage rights to his Male Pregnancy Potion. Any parent who has given birth to at least three children will be exempt of this law.

FAP is aware that we cannot expect people to raise children they didn't want to have, so the fortunes and estates of all the families that have gone extinct during the war are used to fund the Reproduction Project and realize orphanages and magical nurseries, primary- and secondary schools. However, should the carriers of the children of the Reproduction Project want to be a mother or father, they will get child support.

In order to enrich our gene pool we will offer money to men not native to Britain to sire children with our citizens. Just like the British citizens who will become carriers, they must subject themselves to a healer to show they don't carry any transmittable diseases. The men we will select will be further tested on possible hereditary diseases and most importantly: on strong magic. The passing factor for being accepted as a donor will be having a magical gift – being a seer, elemental, empath, parselmouth, metamorphmagus etc; have creature-blood; or being muggleborn. The orphan children of the Reproduction Project will have documentation of their parentage for the purpose of preventing inbreeding when they will have children.

FAP has also been concerned about the fact that research showed that conception only seems to be possible for magical beings when there is both intercourse and climax from both participants. We understand that being put in the position of having to carry a child, and having to be intimate with someone you don't know for said child is too much to expect from a lot of our citizens. Therefore we are brewing not only the Male Pregnancy Potion, but also Zeus' Elixer en masse. For those of you who are not familiar with Zeus' Elixer, let me assure you: no one will transform into a swan, but you will be extremely fertile and left into a strong haze for 24 hours where you lose all inhibitions and get an itch that won't stop no matter how many times you scratch it to satisfaction.

FAP realized that especially the older people will quickly lose their chance to contribute to society with a pregnancy, so they can expect to get an invitation to the Reproduction Project soon. Notice of your duty to the British population to carry a child will be sent one month ahead. Everyone is expected to report in immediately after receiving the letter in order for the mandatory physical exam, the magical vow that you will not deliberately hurt the child you carry in any way during your pregnancy and for men to drink the Male Pregnancy Potion, because arranging the intestines in such way to make place for a baby apparently takes some time.

Moreover, as a token of goodwill to the public, relatively famous British witches and wizards will also be the first carriers of the children of the Reproduction Project. FAP is willing to negotiate with the managers of the quidditch teams on when which players will have a pregnancy as to not ruin our chances on international quidditch victories.

The first carriers will start next month and will be: Hermione Granger; Celestina Warbeck, Rita Skeeter, Glynnis Griffiths, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Stubby Boardman, Gilderoy Lockheart, and Ludovic Bagman. They have all been contacted in advance.

The exact details of what the law entails and how the program will work will be printed under the advertisements of all major British magical publications.

Thank you for your time."

_She walked away from the podium. God she hated this, but at least she wouldn't be forced to marry Vincent Crabbe. She shuddered at the thought, glad the marriage law wasn't feasible. Yes, she would rather go down in history as Hermione the Homewrecker, than end up with inbred Death Eater scum._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please tell me, what do you think about the whole 'marriage law' trope? And do you have any favourites?  
> This is one of mine:
> 
> [Silent But Deadly by Snarry4life](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10116024/1/Silent-But-Deadly)


	5. The wonders of Felix Felicis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or 'What to do when your wife used to read the adventures of Asterix?'

James was shocked to walk into a hysterically sobbing Lily. What on earth could have happened? Why was his precious Lily-flower so unhappy? Why was his vivacious wife so downtrodden? So he did the logical thing. He asked.

"Waaaaah!" Wailed his wife.

_Wasn't she a muggleborn, how was it possible she sounded like a banshee? There wasn't any banshee blood in the Evans family, was there?_

"I am such a bad mother, and you are such a terrible father – we aren't fit to be parents at all!"

"Where does this come from, my beautiful Lily-flower?" Asked James while he absentmindedly conjured a handkerchief, and handed it to her. "Why do you suddenly think we aren't fit to be parents?"

"Don't think I didn't see it last week." Said Lily, "I saw you drop Harry on his head."

James winced. He had hoped his wife would have missed that.

"Today Harry had a little accident while I was ironing our clothes," Lily confessed. "I charmed the iron to do the work for me like I always do, and I sat next to it reading, I didn't notice until it was too late. Until Harry was wailing."

James blanched. "Merlin! Please tell me our son is alright?"

Lily sniffled and nodded.

"I've spelled him asleep and currently he has a very thick burn-healing paste over his hands. But that's not the point. I've failed him. You've failed him. We both have failed our little darling son. How come we're such bad parents?"

James frowned. They were indeed horrible, horrible parents. But then, whenever Remus or Sirius babysitted – Peter had spontaneously applied for three different jobs at the same time rather than spending some time with the youngest of the pack – those two had just as much bad luck. Moony and Padfoot had been horrified by how disastrous that evening turned out to be. And no matter what precautions Lily and he took, somehow Harry always had the baddest luck.

It was always bad luck, now he came to think of it. It was almost as if their son was cursed.

... _Cursed?_ _Doesn't that sound familiar at all?_

"That's it!" James shouted, feeling elated. "That's what wrong with us!"

"Well what is it? Why are we failing so terribly?" Lily asked, dejected.

"Do you remember that one time, how Snivellus called you the M-word when you tried to defend him?"

Lily shrugged while half choking on a sob. James took it as a confirmation to elaborate.

"Do you remember how angry I was on your behalf?"

Lily snorted this time.

"You used _Explosivo Castrado_ on him. In the great hall. During dinner time. You humiliated him good. That's the reason why Death Eaters take you seriously. They know not to fuck with you."

James squirmed in some sort of vague embarrassment.

"But do you remember how Snivelly retaliated, a week later, when he was finally out of the hospital wing?"

"Bugger!" Lily cursed.

"Yes. Bugger indeed. I completely forgot. He did a very complex wand movement, some sort of orange spell, silently. It tingled. When he was done, he cackled madly, pronouncing he had cursed my firstborn with the worst luck ever."

"So that's why that revolving door shot further, right into Harry whom I was carrying on my back that time."

James nodded.

"And that's why we didn't realize the baby formula had gone bad until Harry was puking his guts out."

"And that's why our pediatric healer had to try fifteen times before he had the needle in properly for all the vaccination shots."

"Or why the one time I forget to check the bath water, somehow the tap gave far too hot water."

"Or why he was buried under snow because that avalanche just had to fall when he was sitting on the porch."

Lily nodded decisively.

"It isn't that we are exceptionally bad parents, our kid has exceptionally bad luck. But bad luck I can work with. It seems my dad was wrong, comic books are good reading material and brilliant inspiration."

"Oh dear," James muttered. "Dare I ask what you are planning?"

**(seven hours later)**

After seven hours of intensive brewing in an XXL cauldron, Lily cackled in delight.

"Accio babybath!"

Carefully, she poured all the potion from the cauldron into the babybath, and conjured a snorkel. She charmed the snorkel to give extra oxygen while vanishing the carbon oxide. Never let it be said she wasn't thorough. Now everything was ready, it was time to call James to bring in her – but there they were already.

"What on earth _happened_ James? Look at his head, he is bleeding!"

"Don't you think I know." The man said, sounding vexed. "One minute he was happily flying around the diner table, the next thing I know, that horrid vase falls down on him."

"Petunia's?" Lily interjected.

"Petunia's." James confirmed. "Anyhow, you are the one that knows healing spells. Could you please fix him?" He asked, holding up Harry under his arm pits.

"Fix him, he says," she muttered angrily, while waving her wand in the right pattern. " _Episkey_! As if he is an object... Poor Harry, with your bad, bad luck. Mummy promises she tries to counter all those ouch-ies the best she can, just you wait... Now, hold our son still while I spell this snorkel not to get out of place... _Lentum_."

"Care to explain why you have spelled a snorkel onto his mouth?"

"Later, but please undress him while I spell his nose shut. Wouldn't want him to drown anyway."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do your job, James." Lily said through gritted teeth. "If you weren't such a jackass in the first place, Snape would have had no reason to curse you or your offspring, and we would have never had a problem to begin with! _Impervius,"_ she said while she stuck her wand in one nostril. " _Impervius,"_ she repeated in the other.

"There you are, Lily. Our baby-boy naked as the day he was born... Minus the snorkel of course." James added, sounding rather dubious.

"Good. Now use a timer spell for exactly seventy minutes. Start timing while I submerge him into the potion."

"Wait, that basin is full of potion?"

"Yes," she said, as she sat Harry down in the potion.

"So what kind of potion is it? And why do you want him to soak in it, of all things?"

"This is a huge batch of Felix Felicis, and I want to baptize him and soak him into the stuff. Afterwards, I'll feed him a liter of it." She said while holding a hand on Harry's chest so he wouldn't get up.

James looked baffled.

"Soak him in Felix Felicis? Are you out of your mind?"

"Not at all, don't tell me that you still don't know what magic's all about?"

"Well, clearly I don't because I can't see why what you are planning to do isn't completely insane!" James said testily.

"It's all about the symbolism. What your creativity and your mind's ideas can give magic to work with. That's the whole basis of potions brewing, accidental magic, charms... Transfiguration. Don't tell me you still haven't figured that out? If I say gravity is a silly little suggestion, from that point on, magic will treat gravity like a silly little suggestion. And if I say that almost drowning my son in a potion will make my son always have that potions effect just like a comic book hero, magic will obey!"

"Lily-flower, dearest... I read something about side-effects, are you sure this is the best course of action...? I mean you know well, and all, but..." side

"Pish posh. You are talking about how an overdose makes one reckless, aren't you? Recklessness is relative to previous behaviour. We are going to raise our Harry to think before he acts, he might still be reckless, but it'll be controlled. Never mind, true curses are a bitch to find counter-curses against. So rather than dissolving his bad luck, it is much easier to overpower him with crazy good luck. If it evens out the way I hope it does, all the bad will be accompanied with good. So be a good husband and trust me. If you do all will be well."

"If you say so..."

**(ninety minutes later)**

"So you've bathed Harry in Felix Felices, you've managed to feed him a liter of the potion you've soaked him in, now what?"

"Now we both take a cup, and I'll put Harry to bed, while you transfigure a piece of cutlery into a shag-carpet and lit the fireplace for romantic ambiance. Afterwards, we'll have lots of kinky sex!"

"Ok, I'll see you soon, my beautiful Lily-flower."

**(five minutes later)**

" _Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off –_ "

_The sounds of someone stumbling from a room – a door bursting open – a cackle of high-pitched laughter –_

" _Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –_ "

" _Stand aside – stand aside, girl –_ "

" _Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

" _Stand aside, you silly girl … stand aside, now..."_

" _Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –_ "

" _Not Harry! Please … have mercy... have mercy..."_

* * *

...And while Harry didn't fall into the cauldron quite like Obelix did, the potions effects stayed with him just like the curse did... A lunatic tries to murder him, and he survives a killing curse... And while from that point on the curse of bad luck tried to get a hold on him, the good kind, or rather dumb luck seemed to prevail, leading to the most unlikely events...


	6. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Fudge got what he wanted when he put Harry on trial for using a patronus charm?

_"They were bound to clear you," said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes, "there was no case against you, none at all."_

That simple sentence broke something.

Just like his wand, earlier today.

"The trial was a complete farce; I had no legal representation, they didn't let me answer the questions properly, Figg was disregarded just because she's a squib... But here is the real kicker: a headmaster and a chairman of Merlin knows how many political functions, all in one under the grandiose name of Albus Sodding Dumbledore, showed up by the time they were done with me. Apparently he suddenly fancied himself an attorney, but due to the sudden changed time of the trial, _he missed it._ Didn't even had the decency to look me in the eye."

He growled.

"They have effectively managed to further cement my reputation as a lying attention seeking twat, or whatever it is they call me these days; they managed to break my wand, and therefore managed to throw me out of Hogwarts."

"Ouch."

"Yes, ouch." Harry frowned. Apart from that, nobody really dared to say anything, because what could you say on occasions like these? He shook his head, left the room full of dazed people and walked to the library, to properly brood in solitude.

…

It was later that day in a more private setting when Harry's dam burst.

"Honestly Hermione? I don't even know why I am still trying. Regardless of whether someone is or isn't guilty, it doesn't matter. If they want to pin something down on someone, they simply defenestrate all logic, witness accounts, alibi's and all law in general."

"In fact," Harry said exasperatedly while dramatically throwing his arms up in the air, "I am rather surprised that no-one showed up at Privet Drive, and simply told me _'Hello mr. Potter, we have decided we don't like you anymore, so we will snap your wand now._ _ **Snap!**_ _Ta!'_ "

"Just _think_ about it! The first Chamber of Secrets debacle; you know, when Moaning Myrtle was murdered? Riddle pointed his finger at Hagrid and that blasted acromantula of his, and the next thing we know, Hagrid is thrown out of school! How could they even link the symptoms of a basilisk to a bleeding acromantula? It would have made more sense to suspect that some blithering idiot suddenly found an appreciation for the killing curse when Myrtle snuffed it! But _nooo_ – and why didn't they investigate any further or _think_? Because Hagrid is a half giant. Argh!"

Harry was pacing now.

"And some fifty odd years later the chamber gets reopened, and without any reason or cause, they throw Hagrid into Azkaban because – and I remember Fudge saying it quite clearly – it would look like the ministry was _**doing**_ something. And when they finally got their heads out of their arse, they let him out of Azkaban, but he didn't get reparations, let alone the permit to carry a wand again."

"Today too, when Dumbledore feebly tried to dispute my already broken wand. Fudge was quite clear with his choice of words: **'Laws can be changed.'** "

Harry snorted mirthlessly, "I'm beginning to think that man has changed the Ministry of Magic's motto into 'Ex Post Facto', or some such thing."

His audience, consisting out of Sirius, Remus and Hermione, cringed. It didn't help that Harry's body language screamed righteous anger.

"And we all know that that isn't the first time something like that happened, do we? Under Bagnold's administration, when my parents were murdered? Sirius was thrown into Azkaban – for life, mind you – without a trial! I think I'm seeing a trend here! And even someone seemingly sensible like Dumbledore – mind you, I am _not_ his biggest fan at the moment – didn't bother to investigate further, even though it was common knowledge that Sirius and James had basically declared themselves to be each other brothers."

Harry fumed, and ranted further.

"Not to mention the magical oath Sirius must have pledged in order to _become_ my godfather. To this day Sirius probably still is unable to do something that would harm my physical well being." He looked at his godfather to see him nod to confirm Harry's suspicions. With trouble he reigned his sudden tendency to repeatedly bash his head into the wall. The general stupidity of the wizarding world was truly baffling.

"If anyone cared to think for _just a minute_ they would have figured that out! I mean, I wasn't even raised in the wizarding culture, and I was able to deduce that. But nobody did that, didn't they? And why? Because nobody _cared_. Because Sirius was a Black, and the Blacks are... well, black. And that was all there was to it. It disgusts me!"

By now he was even making wild gestures to emphasize his story, something he normally never did.

"When I was thirteen I tried to tell the minister that I knew my godfather was innocent. Did it matter? Did they ask me for a pensive memory? Did they wait for the professor-turned-werewolf to change back and to ask his witness account? _No!_ And why, you might ask? Because it was bad politics, so that no good minister smiles at me like I am some demented toddler, and tells me I must have been confunded, right? _They just don't listen._ Why? _Because they don't care for the truth!_ "

Three pairs of wide eyes were staring at Harry, abhorred by the implications of the solid facts he was dishing out in front of them.

"I mean, honestly, a year later Fudge stands next to my hospital bed again, and I tell him Voldemort's back, and the tosser ignores it. Begins to complain I am not to be trusted; even outright _admitted_ that he based his opinion of me on Skeeters articles, and then – talk about mind boggling – he complains that I tell crackpot stories each and every year. Never mind the fact that it was _him_ , last year, who told me that I couldn't help being confunded!"

"You know what that means, Sirius?" Growled Harry, seeing a confused godfather meet his eyes.

"He obviously forgot that he told me I was confunded and therefore delusional; that means he doesn't remember what he told me to try and iron out the wrinkles in the story last year. If you honestly thought that a mass murderer had had managed to capture three innocent school-aged kids – out of which one was a celebrity on a pedestal for crying out loud – and proceeded to confound them in the hope they'd vouch for his innocence, you'd believe it to be a tragedy! Something like that isn't easy to forget. Heck, you'd probably remember it for the rest of your life."

He pleadingly sought his godfathers eyes.

"Sirius, that Fudge accused me of cock and bull stories then and there, clearly means he knew that somebody in the ministry made a huge cock-up, and rather than setting things straight, he proceeded by trying to sweep it all under the carpet, and trying to make sure you got kissed before anyone could ask any questions! That is his modus operandi, he did it again with Crouch Jr – _he was kissed before the aurors had seen him!_ "

This had his godfather baffled. They severely go in the wrong with the heir to the Lordship of a Most Ancient and Noble House, and rather than set things straight, they try to kill the wronged one, so that nobody complains?

At this point, Hermione wrinkled her nose. The name 'Crouch' rubbed her the wrong way, regardless of which one they were talking about. She was still irked by the careless manner of how Crouch dismissed Winky so easily. Years of faithful service, and being found in a very unfortunate position was enough to get the sack. And to think that he broke the law for Merlin-knows-how-many-years, keeping his convicted son at home under an invisibility cloak. And all that time there wasn't a single soul who thought something was amiss. Ridiculous! Yes, it was absolutely ridiculous that magicals, in a world where nothing always is what it seems to be, nobody even bothers by looking beneath the surface to find out what actually is going on.

Harry looked at her and that instant she knew that he knew what she was thinking. When he spoke again, she was shocked by the softness in his voice. It sounded deceptively calm.

"Hermione, what ought to irk you, is that you, and Remus, much like any other sentient creature – and _how I loathe_ that term – are treated as third rate citizens or worse. Those stinking self entitled purebloods need every ounce of input they can get from brilliant minds like the two of you, because it is smart and innovative people like you that could actually improve this Merlin forsaken community. Don't bother deluding yourself that they will ever appreciate you, a muggleborn."

Suddenly, Harry looked at his uncles. Honorary godfather and the real one. "Don't think that I haven't figured out yet why my muggleborn mum, whom kept ignoring the endless advances of a certain pureblood heir of the Potter line, was suddenly head over heels with my father and happily consented to marry him. I wouldn't be surprised if she dosed herself up with amortentia or some such, because a respectable pureblood husband was her ticket to a charms mastery."

You'd truly have to be a special brand of crazy to see no faults in the way one had to navigate themselves throughout the 'wizarding world', as magical Britain would like to call their isolationist community.

"And you want to know what really scares me? I'm afraid that within a few months, the media will have made me out to be not only a deranged lunatic, but a dangerous one as well. I can imagine it happening already... While I am out, squandering money somewhere because I won't have anything better to do – seeing as I won't be going back to Hogwarts – or maybe on a different occasion, but definitely somewhere very public, they will arrest me, with a full Auror corps present. And I won't have a trial. And they probably won't even tell me which murder they will be accusing me of – and I don't even know how to turn into an animal to escape!"

"You squandering money?" Snorted Hermione, trying to find mirth in the dire situation Harry was sketching.

"I imagine that when I'm obviously not bothered with school anymore I have to do something with my time. Merlin knows I truly have to be motivated to actually do something. And I know I have enough money not to work a day in my life if I choose to. I could go explore myself."

And suddenly Hermione realized that the coming school year would be lonely without the man whom she loved... albeit platonically.

"Oh Harry!" The next thing he knew, he was engulfed in Hermione's arms, and for a few seconds he tried to let her soothe him. It didn't work though. Harry was still feeling slighted, and voiced that.

"You know what the sad part is? Nothing can bring Cedric back from the dead, and with Voldemort out and about he will be the first of many. And regardless of how the ministry tries to screw me over, Voldemort will hate me for my sheer tenacity in refusing to drop dead. He will see me as an embarrassment, someone that has to be taken out."

He closed his eyes and ducked his head in Hermione's hair.

"And my loyal holly-phoenix wand which saved my life on more than one occasion now consists out of two parts. I can't buy myself a new wand within Britain, and I am exempted of magical education: I can't even learn some defensive magic in the hope to give the Dark Tosser at least a fight – it'd be nice if I could actually take some Death Eaters with me when I die."

He sniffed.

"And no matter how much I vent about everything being unfair, it still doesn't change that Remus and Sirius won't be given the time of anyone's day to hear their story and to realise those two aren't ruthless killers. I can't go back to Hogwarts – hell, they might even try to send me back to the Dursley's – I don't even know why I would want go back to that biased lot I had to call peers for four years! Even Ron showed his true colours and turned his back on me when my name came out of the goblet. And no matter how much I missed my friend, or how quickly I have forgiven him, I can't help but fearing the moment he'll betray my trust again. You were the only thing keeping me there, Hermione. You were the sole reason I planned to return to that Merlin forsaken hell hole – provided I would live to see the end of that trice damned tournament!"

Harry sniffed again, "Everything just generally sucks at the moment!"

Silence.

"You know," Sirius said tentatively, "I remember that my mother had this extremely illegal time turner. Rather than hours, you could choose to go back months or years."

Now _that_ had potential. He knew he couldn't create paradoxes, or change the time line so rigorously that he wouldn't recognise his present anymore, but it definitely had potential. Within seconds he already had some sort of plan.

"I could go back to November the first of '81. Go to the goblins and establish that I am Harry Potter, sole heir to the Potter fortune, and that I want a working muggle debit and credit card, be able to access magical valuta around the world, and the bank statements to go to older me in stead of mini-me. I could actually take the time to learn how to defend myself."

Silence.

"Harry," Remus said, "you will have to make sure in very much detail when and where you are expected to be 'Harry' again... You will have to be very exact with de-aging potion. You will have to make sure that you exactly remember who you are expected to be when your borrowed time is up. You'll have to act as a teenager again when you're all grown up. It's nearly impossible."

"Tssk," scoffed Harry. "I just have to write a letter to the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. In that letter I tell them I am fed up with the British magical community, that I'll immigrate, and my message to the public: go fuck yourself. When I turn back in time I'll have fourteen years to shape up, and to train myself not to be an easy target, and to get another identity."

With a vindictive smile, he elaborated further. "After September '95 I'll make sure to show the face everybody identifies with the famous Boy Who Lived in some very crowded magical community every once in a while. As long as I'll have a good photo of how I look right now – and I can buy a newspaper for that, really – I'm sure I'll find a way to make myself look like the kid everyone expects me to be in that time frame."

The cat-ate-the-canary smile became even wider.

"Voldemort, being the psychopathic megalomaniac he is, won't be able to leave me alone. In no-time he will have dispatched his minions out there, looking for my every trace. And since their first lead is somewhere very public, it won't go unnoticed by the local aurors. If I'll be away far enough for Voldemort not to be as fear-inspiring as in Britain, but close enough to still be an international household name, his return will be in the newspapers, and the proof will be incontrovertible."

"In other words, I'll have done my public service of announcing his rebirth properly; have managed to finish my magical education, and the peace of a new identity. No-one could guilt-trip me into becoming their very own boy-hero/martyr."

Sirius silently looked at Harry for a long time.

"It's brilliant. Would you perchance like the company of a Grim for a pet, while you're using mothers time turner?"

"I'd be delighted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite some time after posting this one, I found a different version of this story on my hard drive. About the actual travel back into time. So maybe, sometime in the future... Anybody has a request for what should happen in such alternative version?


	7. Cousins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets interested in family trees...

Hermione was surprised to find Harry in the common room with an unusually thick book... Not to say Harry had an aversion to reading – he certainly wasn't Ron – but it was uncommon to find him staring into thick volumes such as these.

"So, what are you reading?" Hermione asked, making conversation.

"Wizarding genealogy," was Harry's answer.

"Why?" She asked rather puzzled. It wasn't like Harry to be interested in stuff like that – and to see him, after five years of not giving a toss about who's who in the wizarding world, suddenly interested in stuff that normally only mattered to the uppity pure-bloods with a better-than-thou attitude was strange to say the least.

"Remember our first summer in Grimmauld Place? Sirius showed the family tapestry, and showed me how we were related. Did you know that he and I were second cousins? It turned out I had some living family after all."

Not knowing what to do at the mention of Harry's dead godfather she sat beside him and gave him a one-armed hug. He leaned in to show her he appreciated it, and spoke once more.

"Actually, I'm getting kind of queasy at what I'm reading – Sirius' parents were each others second cousins as well. His mum's full name was Walburga Vespa Black née Black. _Black née Black!_ Walburga and Orion had the very same great-grandparents... I don't know what to feel about that. Actually – I think I do, and it kind of disgusts me. Never mind the fact that it also means I have to acknowledge that Malfoy – the bloody ponce – is my second cousin, once removed. I'm not sure if I like that."

Hermione turned a bit green.

"Vespa? As in a hornet? Honestly, who names their child after a wasp genus? It isn't as if they ran out of other stars and constellations for naming material leaving the constellation 'Vespa' as the only choice, is it? But Black née Black? _Ew!_ ...And my condolences," she muttered afterwards, not knowing anything better to say to the revelation that Harry was related to the Malfoy-spawn.

"I know, right? Well, the upside is that Tonks – whether they burned her mother off the family tree or not – is also my second cousin, once removed."

"Well, that's better."

Harry made a non-committal sound, leafing further through the book in his lap.

"Hey, look at that!"

"At what?" Asked Hermione, hanging over Harry's shoulder.

"The Weasley's!"

"Huh, I never would've guessed. Well Harry, it turns out Mr. Weasley is your second cousin, once removed as well."

"Oh God, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"What's the matter Harry?"

"Hermione, I am – was, right now definitely _was_ – crushing on my third cousin. That's still incestuous, if you think about it."

She looked as Harry as if she just had tasted something very gross. After a shuddering breath, she spoke.

"Well, you are only related to her through your grandmum Dorea, aren't you?"

"Er..." Harry said, feeling rather stupid, "I haven't even checked granddad Charlus' family tree..."

Hermione hugged him again.

"No better time than the present, right?"

"Right," Harry said, as he began to leaf through the thick book looking for the Potter family tree.

"Grandad Charlus... Oh, here he is..." Harry groaned.

"Charlus Hadrianus Potter," Harry read out loud. "Son of James Ignotus Potter and Margaret Fabienne Prewett, twin sister of – oh God – _Muriel_ , and sister of Ignatius and Theresa Prewett."

"Harry, didn't we come across Ignatius Prewett in the Black Family tree?"

"Yes, Hermione. Let be go to his part of the tree... Ignatius Prewett, married to Lucretia Black, father to Margeret "Molly" Weasley née Prewett and the twins Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Wait, what does that make Molly and Arthur?!"

Hermione yanked the book out of Harry's hands and began to leaf back with furor.

"They're second cousins, once removed." Hermione squeaked. "Those incest jokes that go like 'honey, I want a divorce, but can we still stay cousins' lose their fun in the wizarding world, don't they?"

"I'd laugh so much I'd cry," Harry deadpanned. "Wait, that means Ginny is my cousin twice, isn't it?"

"Thrice at the very least," Hermione groaned. "You are forgetting that she is your cousin twice at your grandmum's side of the family, and we still don't know how you're related to her through your granddad."

Harry rubbed his eyes, and leaned into Hermione's side to easily leaf through the pages in the book that now was on her lap.

"I'll go to the large Black family tree, maybe when I trace Ginny through Molly's family and I trace mine with both one finger, I'll know what I am to her... Ah, here it is. Arcturus II and grandmum Dorea, first cousins. Lucretia and dad, second cousins. Molly and I, third cousins. So Ginny is my third cousin, once removed. That's only marginally better," Harry sighed.

"And your granddad's side of the family?" Prodded the inquisitive girl.

Harry looked at his sister in all but blood.

"I kind of hoped we could pretend to forget."

"Not a chance, Potter!" Snorted Hermione with no small amount of schadenfreude. Being raised by muggles gave Harry a typical muggleborn-like revulsion when it came to dealing with the amount of intermarrying magical families subjected themselves to. Why people still wondered where squibs came from was a mystery to Hermione. She silently speculated that it was simply because squib children used too much magic while still in the womb, desperately doing anything to be born healthy. The poor sods probably never stood a chance with their inbred parents!

"Now where were we," Harry muttered as he pulled the book back onto his lap again. "Great-grandmother Margaret and Ignatius were brother and sister, which means that granddad Charlus and Molly would be first cousins and dad and Ginny are second cousins, making me her second cousin once removed." He rubbed his temples. "For what it's worth, I think I can finally understand why they all insist on calling me an honorary Weasley..."

Whereas Harry looked completely flabbergasted at the idea of being able to be related to someone three times over, Hermione looked positively ill.

"Your second cousin once removed, third cousin and third cousin once removed all in one package; of whom – completely coincidentally, no doubt – I always have thought that she bears an uncanny resemblance to your mum. That's... Actually, no, I don't know what to say, Harry..."

Harry dumped the book on wizarding genealogy back on her lap, and sprinted to the loo.

Ten minutes of retching later, Harry came back after he had brushed his teeth.

"So, Harry, I guess you aren't jealous anymore when you see Ginny snogging Dean?"

"Not at all. While puking my guts out I've come up with a rule of thumb. If I know _how_ I am related than I am _too much_ related to date it."

Hermione laughed at him, unable to conceal her mirth over his misery.

"You are right, Hermione. Screw that. From now on I am only dating either British muggleborns or simply witches from the continent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made the Vespa up. I looked her up at harry potter wikia and couldn't find a middle name. Vespa is a constellation, and I thought being compared to a wasp wouldn't be too ooc.
> 
> I've also made the Prewett family tree up. Charlus Potter's parents are completely fictional, as is the relation between the canon Prewetts Muriel, Ignatius and Tessie, which I assumed stands for Theresa Prewett.
> 
> i.e. in canon, we can assume Harry just married a girl that has a lot of cousins in common with him, who is coincidentally his third cousin (see hp wikia for Septimus Weasley; their happily forever after suddenly becomes rather disturbing!).


	8. Battle of Hogwarts - the aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, Harry wakes up after the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione has to fill him in...

Harry woke up. He was in pain. No, it was more than that; he felt horrible. As if his whole body had been in and out of the blender. Why did he always end up hurt? There had to be some kind of conspiracy behind it. It was too damn much to be nothing more but the worst luck in human history. Feeling a sudden gulf of nauseating headache he couldn't help but moan.

"If it's your head, don't try to open your eyes yet, Harry. The sensory overload might send you right back into another coma." The voice was soft, and unmistakably Hermione's. Good. That meant, no matter if he was in a hostile situation or not, he had her by his side. With her infallible levelheadedness everything would be alright. He was as sure of that as the sun would rise in the east.

"What happened?" He croaked.

"Please tell me first what you remember, Harry. I want to be sure you have no memory loss. I'll fill you in with the bits and pieces that matter, ok?"

His memory was jumbled. If his body had been through the blender, his memory had joined the party. He remembered bits and pieces, but it all felt like a jig-saw puzzle far above his level.

"Ron, pushing Fred out of the way... Ginny and Colin... Luna, Professor Flitwick... Professor Snape... I was a horcrux... Neville didn't survive Nagini, did he?"

Silence.

"No, but Nagini didn't survive Neville either."

"Good." At least he could feel vindicated on Neville's behalf.

"Focus, Harry."

He swallowed thickly.

"Can we say His name again?"

"Yes. Do you still know what happened, Harry?"

Harry frowned, eyes still closed.

"I did put the poisoned dagger into his heart, didn't I?"

"You did Harry."

"I saw him fall. He is dead, right?"

"I'd say 'dead as a dodo', but since I've been introduced to the diricawl... Suffice to say, we've got all of his soul, and even his fancy homunculus body couldn't survive that dagger in his heart."

"But that isn't all, is it?"

"No," Hermione sounded reluctant to say it. "It isn't."

He remembered baby-blue light. The fourth unforgivable. Feared even more than the quick Killing Curse. These days, instant death wasn't viewed as the horrible fate it had been; feeling the agony of the inevitable imminent and impending doom over your existence was in some ways far more cruel. It was a waiting game, and all your loved ones had to suffer with you. If __that__ had hit him, his body would shut down. And it wouldn't be pleasant either.

The first month was said to be one of unexplainable discomfort. The inherent knowledge that __something_ was off_. The next seven weeks were your own personal dementor. Nobody else could see it, and nobody else could feel it. But the experience would be just the same. And in addition to reliving all your worst nightmares and memories, you'd have to deal with the horrible pain of losing grip on your soul. The last week you weren't there anymore. Your body would just shut down.

The worst part was that suicide wasn't possible. Something had been incorporated into that horrible curse that made all other deaths impossible. More agony was possible, very much so. But not an easy way out. If that was what hit him, he was a dead man walking. It was luckily, Harry thought, that at least he had Hermione at his side. She'd knock him out when it would become too much to bear. She was pragmatic like that.

He swallowed.

"Voldemort managed to hurl the Three-Month-Curse at me after I planted that dagger in him. That's it then. Nothing to do. You've said I've been in a coma, Hermione. How long have I got left?"

"I stepped in front of the curse."

His eyes shot open. Assaulted by the diffuse light, he was hit with another wave of nausea. He dry-heaved. Cold, strong, feminine arms jerked him upward, and pushed him into a position wherein he could throw up at his leisure without suffocating himself. When he was finally done he felt as if someone had wrung out his stomach. But he could deal with pain; he had done so before, after all. Wandlessly he charmed his mouth clean and fresh, and with the help of those strong arms – he sat himself up to get a good look at his sister in all but blood. Something was off. For a dying girl she had a surprising amount of strength.

Harry blinked at what he saw.

Even though he saw it, he had difficulty to accept or believe it.

"..."

"I am not, perchance, hallucinating?"

"No, you're not."

He blinked again.

"..."

"You're a statue." Harry said, for reality's sake; not truly comprehending what he saw. The statue smiled Hermione's sad smile, and nodded.

"It has been a year, Harry."

"Do you mean to tell me I've been in a coma for a year?"

"Yes."

"And you died and became a statue?"

"Yes."

"Hermione, please tell me you weren't alone when you – __you died__ – to such a horrible fate?!"

"Kreacher cared for me."

"He did?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. He hadn't seen that one coming.

"Of course he did, Kreacher and I both have you in common."

"I might not get it right now but I can come back to that later. Did you tell me just now that I have been in a coma for a year when we have magic that can heal a broken spinal cord in a minute?"

Statue-Hermione nodded.

"But, __how__?"

"Kingsley said he couldn't guarantee your safety in Saint Mungo's with the amount of death-eaters and sympathizers on the loose. Poppy died as well that night. I had no professional health care place to go to in order to get you the help you needed. According to my diagnose you were suffering from severe blood loss, severe magical exhaustion, a pulverized sternum, five broken ribs, a punctured lung, magically induced brain inflammation, a ruptured kidney; your body was failing to deal with the five minutes of Crucio! And the cherry on top – how could we forget – you were hit with a second Killing Curse that night, Harry! My medical scans told me you've crossed over for a minute. In case you forgot, a leeching horcrux had just been ripped off your soul!"

"And rather than making sure I got the private funeral I've always wanted, and my testament is followed to the T, you step in front of the curse that only confirmed the inevitable at the time?" He couldn't help but ask it, this was incredulous even for the stunts Hermione pulled from time to time.

The statue made an uncomfortable combination of a nod an a shrug – typically Hermione.

"What were you thinking?!"

"Oh shut it, you would have done the same thing, and you would have been just as thoughtless about it as I was at the time. It's our foolish, reckless Gryffindor nature after all."

"...Ok, so you weren't thinking; like as I wouldn't have. Voldemort just drew his last breath, I was already knocking on Death's door, and you had been hit by the Three-Month-Curse. Then what?"

"The first thing I did was hit the two of us with a general notice-me-not field, with a bit of obliviate in – just enough for people to know you killed Voldemort, but not enough for people to know you were about to die, and I just signed my own death warrant. Then I put you in the strongest stasis spell that I knew of, and had a good cry."

"And after you had your cry?"

"I send a patronus to Kingsley, who basically told me I was all on my own and that anywhere public wasn't safe. So I did the only logical thing, I summoned Kreacher."

Harry decided that now was not the right time to find out whether or not her logic had become convoluted as summoning Kreacher didn't really sound all that logical to him, and asked further.

"And Kreacher told you what Black-property would be safe?"

"Exactly. He send us to the Black-property that he had evacuated all the stuff from Grimmauld Place to."

"So we traveled to another Black-mausoleum with the courtesy of the Kreacher-express?"

"Well, yes. And here we are. But this mausoleum had the most extensive library I've ever come across. It is bigger than the Hogwarts library."

"That's impressive."

"It is, isn't it?"

"You don't sound half as enthusiastic as I thought you would be."

"I know it all."

"What do you mean, you know it all? You haven't been able to read half of the Hogwarts library in the six years you attended the place, and now you had three months to live, and a dying friend under a stasis charm!"

"Well, I admit I was in frenzy to save us both, and you especially because I didn't have all the time in the world, but __Death visited that night.__ "

_"Death visited?"_

"Yes, He came with the stone and cloak you dropped in the forbidden forest – I didn't forget to bring the wand you won of Voldemort."

"You mean to tell me that __Death__ came here, and delivered his stone and cloak to a dying boy and girl? Why on earth would a deity do that?"

"It turns out you truly __have__ become Death's master. Death sounded disgustingly pleased with the whole affair, to be honest."

"...So, a Happy Death came to deliver the stone and the cloak, and saved you by turning you into a marble statue?"

"No."

"He healed me?"

"Well... No."

"Then what did he do?!"

"Do you honestly think I know for sure what that deity did to you?!" Hermione sounded frustrated. "One minute He was holding all three Hallows, and the next, you had them burned into your chest!"

"Into my...?"

"Yes!" Screeched Hermione, agitated. "You have the most curious burn-mark over your chest, let me tell you!"

"And did He say anything about what that meant?"

"Apparently, that meant that from that moment on, you were the Master of Death. Irrefutably and irrevocably so. From that moment on, it would be impossible for you to die."

"And it still took me a year to heal?"

"Death told me I could take you out of the stasis straight away, and let you heal naturally. He said it would feel like local crucio's on your wounds until they healed – for a week. I could hardly do that to you. Never mind the fact that I didn't want you to have a mental breakdown because I still would be dying on you."

"But you did, and now you had to die alone as well."

"Ok! So technically I did die. But I wasn't alone – I had Kreacher. He was there for me. And I have found the glamours to appear human in all the ways that count, but I thought it'd be important for you to be unable to deny the fact that I am but a statue right now, and that there is a corpse of me that you must bury."

"Why didn't you do so yourself?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to take liberties with putting my corpse on a family lot... Never mind the morbidity of burying your own corpse... And I thought that a nicely conserved corpse of me would drive the fact that I'm dead home to you. You must accept that I'm not alive anymore."

"Ok, so you died." Harry allowed. "And don't think I don't appreciate it; you being a statue, that is – because I do! ...But why on earth do I have a solid marble statue wearing Hermione's face in front of me, using her voice, and her facial expressions?!"

"I dreaded the thought of being an oil painting of a muggleborn in the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"..."

"That can't be all, Hermione."

"I know how you are, Harry. And I know you shouldn't be left alone. And that's the crux of the matter; you are all alone. Ron and Ginny died. After the fact they found out that both Fred and George were hit with the Three-Month-Curse as well. Fenrir finished the job on Bill. Fleur died two months later at child birth. Teddy didn't survive his first transformation, three days after Remus died. Tonks lost her concentration in the middle of her duel when she saw her husband fall. Andromeda grieved so much she stopped living. Molly lost four sons. You, the fifth, were missing; she's turned into a right basket case."

"When Percy and Charlie had her admitted, Arthur was alone in the Burrow. He hung himself after he came across the ghoul they dressed up as Ron before they had to leave their home. The wizarding world is in a frenzy. Your newest sobriquet is 'the Vanquisher'. I have had to ward the place against owls that were commanded by their owners to get your DNA – I don't know how or where some found it, but the brothels have big business. And that's hardly all of it. The whole aftermath has accumulated into something grown so vastly out of its proportions that you shouldn't have to deal with it alone. And you would have been alone if I were a painting."

Hermione took Harry's hands in her cold marble ones.

"A painting can't hug you when you need it. And to get over all the shit you've been through, and you undoubtedly so will go through, you are going to need a lot of hugs."

He regarded her for a long time, and could see nothing but sincerity.

"Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome."

"So how did you manage to make yourself seem so alive when you are nothing more but a marble statue with similar charms as a magical portrait has?"

"I didn't want to leave you alone, nor did I want anyone else in your vicinity. I cannot paint to save my life, but buying a piece of marmer, and transfiguring it into a statue that likens my image is peanuts."

The statue shrugged.

"I, as a statue, am a completely new and experimental cross over between wand-core theory, theory on the strength and longevity of blood-magic – a lot of my own to keep my essence, and a bit of you to bind myself to you – and a full month of runic enchanting rather than charming while dosing myself on the life-force potion, and putting everything I am – or rather was – into this statue. When Death came for me he had to congratulate me on a job well done – managing to circumvent the inevitable, staying for the sole purpose of accompanying It's Master. Apparently I've put enough blood, life-force and general positivity and love for you in it to make it a light horcrux. I unintentionally bound half of my soul to this statue."

"That's...wow."

"I know. Especially because it means that for some part I did manage to overcome that dreadful curse. It might have killed me, but somehow it didn't get all of my soul." The statue sighed dramatically.

"The one thing I achieve true brilliance in with my magic and intellect, and I do it in such way that I cannot tell anyone about it, lest it – and I – be destroyed." She snorted. "Not that they'd have a easy job to do that, I've made myself unbreakable, and impervious to all foreign magic. Meaning any magic other than yours and mine."

"You did ward yourself against fiend-fyre, did you?"

"After destroying the damn cup with Bellatrix' vault? Of course I did!"

"Killing Curse?"

"No, but Death told me that if you'd throw yourself in front of a Killing Curse directed at me with the purest intention of saving me, I'd have the same protection against it as you had from your mother; that kind of magic for a statue-friend whom you love as a sister comes with the territory of being the Master of Death and all that."

"Huh... So what did you mean earlier, when you said you 'knew it all' when we were talking about a library larger than Hogwarts Library?"

"I may have came up with a book ledger enchantment, and have tied myself to a few runes I placed in the corners of the library. Every written word within those corners, I'll know."

"That's not all, is it?"

The statue winced.

"No. That's how it started. Kreacher thought it was an excellent idea to make sure you would have someone around that would know what you needed to know. So he had me hold still as a statue – which was rather easy for me because that's all I am – and told the Goblins in his most imperious voice that he was to visit his Master Lord Potter-Black's library vaults at Gringotts. The Potters and Blacks had quite a few books they didn't dare to keep within their homes – far too illegal."

"Ok, so the largest library of the Black family and the book vaults, that's it?"

"No, I've been liberal and have tied myself to every home, estate and barn you own; every written word in each entire place – if a post-it note enters one of your properties, I'll know it."

He watched her shift uncomfortably at his unrelenting gaze. How that worked for a statue though, Harry did not want to contemplate.

"...And I might have also tied myself to the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge, St Andrews, Glasgow, Abberdeen and Eddinburgh."

Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Oh alright! I snuck into the MoM and tied myself to the department of mysteries and the law administration as well... And the whole Diagon and Knockturn Alley and Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. So whenever there is a book that I think I cannot forget because it might be useful someday, I can either send an elf to buy it for your collection, or I can write the copy myself."

"Isn't that a bit excessive?"

"Merlin have mercy! Have you already forgotten the nightmare those horcruxes were? Because I haven't. It was a bloody nightmare, I tell you. And we didn't know what to do, we felt inadequate and were angry at each other... Heck, having the right information could have saved us so much time. The sad part is, that now I have the combined knowledge of all these places, I could write my own book on horcruxes, and it would take more pages than _Hogwarts, a History_ , the extended self-updating edition! Not to mention; every time a kid takes a grimoire to Hogwarts, I'll be able to copy it for you. You can't die Harry, and if it's up to me I'll make sure you won't rot your brains out with boredom. When I am done with you you will be master in every field we could possibly imagine."

"Hermione, I love you dearly, but are you sure that isn't a bit ambitious?"

"Not at all, we have forever, after all."

"Oh dear."

She smirked.

"Do you want to know the fun part of all that accumulated knowledge?"

If she noticed Harry's whimper, she ignored it.

"With the combination of all the university knowledge on the space-time continuum and the knowledge on time magic of the department of mysteries, I know that it is a matter of time before I figure out how we can travel through space-time without the use of and the restrictions of a time turner!"

"Like a wormhole?"

"Of course not. Those are fancy names for when space-time punctures itself with a black hole. And since a black hole tears light and space-time apart, it'll tear you apart. I was thinking along the lines of of apparition."

"Huh?"

"Space-time, Harry. It's interwoven. You can't point out a 'where' without a 'when', otherwise it'd be a very chaotic world we'd live in. I'd imagine there'd be some very confused Romans walking around in Oxford Street right now, if there wasn't a 'when' to specify our 'where'. Whenever you apparate you are basically ripping space-time apart to change your position within said space-time, while concentrating on a 'where' and a 'now'. In theory, you could just as easily concentrate on a 'where' and a 'when'."

"You don't say."

"I do. Trust me when I say this theory is solid."

Harry smiled, that was his Hermione. A loose cannon whenever she had her light bulb moment. Never living in the now, always dreaming of the future. Unstoppable. But as he looked at her he couldn't help but be reminded that this was a copy, a memory. Not the real deal.

"You truly are scary but brilliant." Harry sighed. "Ron had an apt description there. Shall I write that down as an epitaph, since you want me to bury you?"

Ignoring him completely, she talked further.

"As I was saying, we could take holidays to ancient cultures. Learn long forgotten magics. Get to know __the__ Cassandra, Circe, Merlin and Morgana. Befriend the Founders. Save some magical creatures from extinction – I know you'd love to have your own petting farm. It'll be fun!"

"Ok, Hermione. You make your plans to tear our space-time continuum apart –"

"I just explained to you that we magical people already do that on daily basis!" Hermione interjected, sounding affronted.

"– As I said, you make your plans while I see if I can book a portkey to Australia. It won't do for your parents to keep their memories from being restored. The least I can do is make sure they will be able to attend your funeral."

It didn't work, she still blathered on.

"But first, I'll make a comprehensive list of stuff we have to know and master before we can endeavor such travels. Oh, I know I'd love to get to know the Sumerian culture..."

Exasperated, Harry didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. That pushy force of nature she could be was just what he needed. It had been a stroke of brilliance to make herself into a living statue. When trying to accept the knowledge that everyone he cared for was dead and he couldn't see them again because he was the bloody Master of Dead he could do with some marble hugs. Yes, luckily he still had Hermione. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A crazy oneshot, I know, but this is a idea that is rather original. Or so I hope. In fact, I might or might not elongate this into a proper story. However, if anyone actually thinks they can do something with this, they are free to make it into a story of their own. Though I'd love to get a link so I could read whatever you make of it.


	9. Harry's vault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first day in the wizarding world...

_"Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts."_

* * *

"All of this is mine?"

"Yes."

"Hagrid, the Daily Prophet was 5 knuts, wasn't it?"

"Yes, why?"

"If I'd say that a muggle newspaper would cost 1 pound sterling, and the Daily Prophet costs 5 knuts, I could assume 5 knuts is about 1 pound sterling, or 1 knut 20 pence, correct?"

After seeing Griphook's confirming nod, Harry went happily on, glad that he could finally show off his talent in math without being reigned in by the Dursleys because he would make his fat cousin look bad by comparison.

"29 knuts divided by five would be... 5,8 knuts... or 5,80 pounds."

At yet another nod from the approving goblin – logical wizards were a contradiction in itself – Harry grinned and became even more enthusiastic.

"That means 1 sickle is about 5,8 pounds sterling, and 17 sickles or 1 galleon almost 100 pounds sterling, correct?"

Griphook gave Harry a approving nod.

"The exchange rate we have is 100 pounds sterling to a galleon and 1 galleon to 100 pounds sterling, our profit is 1,4%."

Harry nodded happily when he heard he hadn't lost his touch.

"This is truly an obscene amount of money. Correct me if I'm wrong, but could I estimate that I have at least one cubic yard of galleons in front of me?"

Hagrid, looking befuddled at the mathematical talk stayed silent; Griphook on the other hand grinned.

"I'd say that you're being modest, Mr Potter."

Tentatively, he walked towards the closest mound of gold coins – galleons, he reminded himself – to pick a single coin up. He peered at it.

"About a inch long and 1/5 inch thick... That means a stack of 5 galleons would be a cubic inch."

With a gleam in his eyes he began to count.

"One cubic yard would mean 36 inch times 36 inch times 36 inch..."

He was silent for about a minute until he had it figured out. It would be 46656 coins... times five of course... And he began to think again until he knew he had it right.

"One cubic yard of galleons means over 233.000 galleons! That's over 23 million pounds! I'm a multi millionaire!"

Harry's grin became somewhat maniacal.

"I'm not going back to the Dursley's until school begins if I easily can afford lodging."

Harry looked up to Hagrid.

"What is the recommended amount of money for standard school stuff?"

Hagrid frowned.

"Hogwarts always recommends a shopping budget of about 30 galleons for first years, though we manage 25 galleons if it is from the school trust. In the following school years when a student has basic equipment, and when the purchases mainly consist of parchment, quills, potion ingredients and books, it is about 10 galleons."

Harry beamed up to the half giant.

"In that case I am definitely going to splurge a bit on some things... I think 70 galleons ought to be more than enough."

Hagrid looked as if he was about to protest, but he could see that Harry wouldn't take no for an answer.

…

At the end of the day Harry sat in a room of the Leaky Cauldron with his new pet Hedwig, and thought of what he had accomplished now he knew he a bit financial leeway.

He had successfully convinced Hagrid that he didn't have to go back to the Dursley's – Dudley's pigtail was a solid argument.

He had bought not only a wand, but after questioning Mr Ollivander he now knew how to care for it, and how to carry it (the holster was neat).

Harry had managed to buy a super deluxe school trunk with some sort of magical lock that only he could open, it had seven dimensions of which one consisted of a library drawer. The sales-man had said that the drawer had truly the capacity of a decent library.

And even on the first day he managed to start a nice book collection. On recommendation of the most impressed goblin Griphook, Harry had bought a large variety of Arithmancy books. He also had managed to find a introduction books to wizarding culture for the muggle born and raised; several books on wizarding etiquette and a whole lot on modern magical history – he wanted to know why everyone was staring at his head. The crown on his new collection were the books on self defence; after being told that lots of 'bad guys' weren't in jail, he knew that decent self protection wasn't optional.

When the store clerk found out of Harry's desire to buy a whole lot of books, he also recommended several books on the hows and why's of the art of potion making, and even more important: a book that consisted of nothing else than a long catalogue of all magical flora, fauna and other magical stuff found in nature; with charts of their magical properties and their reactions with other magical substances.

After flipping his extra potion books through, he couldn't understand why these weren't mandatory.

…

At the end of august Harry knew what kind of environment the wizarding world was, and thanks to _Hogwarts, a History_ he even knew what to expect of his new school (he wanted to be in Hufflepuff; loyalty, hard work, and more important – justice! After ten years of living with those horribly unfair relatives of his, he appreciated the idea of having dorm-mates with the same values. In fact, Harry thought he could be proud, were he to be defined by such traits.

On a different note; Harry managed to spend a good portion of his new found capital in the muggle world. He would go to school with a whole new wardrobe – summer and winter – and even stuff in a few sizes up in case he suddenly started growing at school. He had found himself a new pair of glasses, and was overall happy that he at least looked normal.

…

Harry was glad he wouldn't be completely ignorant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the earlier HP fanfics I wrote. Quite some time later I read in someones A/N (don't ask me which author or which fanfic, I can't remember), who was quite adamant about the following:  
> "Any Harry Potter fanfic that tries to go into dept about the canon economy is doomed to fail."  
> What are your thoughts on the matter?


	10. Harry's Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because everyone is doing it... pairing: slash

Harry walked home with a skip in his step. Three years ago he doubted he'd live past his eighteenth birthday, but look at him now! Not only did he manage to beat Voldemort, but doing so had made those who didn't initially jump the 'Boy-Who-Lived' band wagon, grudgingly admit there was more to him than some vapid brat that rode the coattails of the fame that came with his mothers sacrifice.

He had returned for his 'eighth' year at Hogwarts, and managed to get himself eight N.E.W.T.S. and, after another year of hard work, his A-levels as well. He could tell himself he had finally accomplished something.

What was even better, was that he had studied for his A-levels while living on a perpetual cloud nine. He was in love, and His Love loved him as well. The last year had been absolute bliss. While he hardly could deny that His Love wasn't an easy man, he was his.

And even though Ron and Hermione had had their doubts at first, once they were sure Harry was free of any and all potion influence, and His Love seemed to be genuine in his new-found affection towards Harry, they had given Harry their blessings, even though they might not have understood.

But tonight wouldn't be about them. It'd be about Harry and His Love, no-one else. It was, after all, their one-year anniversary. That's why he had all the ingredients for a lovely three course dinner with him, in which he would cook His Love's favourites – he had even already fought with Kreacher over the rights to the kitchen this day; and luckily Kreacher seemed to understand the concept of why Harry wanted to cook by himself.

Not that Harry could get used to it, Kreacher had grumbled. But that didn't matter, today was the first day of the summer holidays, and after their romantic dinner, Harry would surprise His Love with Portkey tickets for a week long holiday. It would all be perfect.

...

"Love, the entire evening you've had the most peculiar expression on your face, are you finally going to tell me what's that all about?" Harry asked, voice muffled into His Love's naked shoulder, savouring the feeling of the man still in him – talk about post-coital bliss.

"Yes, it is about time," His Love said, sounding rather contemplating.

"Huh, you can't be talking about the Portkey, I might have only told you about that half way through dessert, but we still have three ho-ours." Harry spoke, moaning halfway through the last word as the man pulled out of Harry and started dressing himself.

"Of course I'm not talking about the Portkey, you idiot boy," the man sneered.

Feeling rather hurt at the choice of words of his usually very kind lover, he stood up quickly and laid his hand on the man's hip.

"What's all this about, then, Love?"

The older man pointedly took Harry's hand of his hips and pushed Harry backwards, out of his personal space.

"You can't tell me you've never wondered at the fact that, when you confessed your feelings to me, I reciprocated your feelings at all?" The man asked, scathingly.

With wide eyes, Harry gave his significant other an uncomprehending stare.

"What's with the passed tense?" Harry jested before he gave His Love a proper answer.

"All joking aside, of course I did at the beginning. I mean, the only reason I confessed to you at all is because I wanted to get it out of my system – I was about to leave Hogwarts for good; you were my teacher! I probably wouldn't see you again for quite some time. If at all! I never thought you would feel that way about me. I was ready for a heart break, I just needed to hear it form you to move on, really. And it almost did break – my heart that is – but you grabbed me, dragged me back, and kissed me like I was never kissed before."

Harry gave His Love a thousand megawatt smile.

"Though I must confess, the entire first month I woke up thinking it was all a dream, only to turn around and see you sleeping next to me. I can't begin to describe how grateful I am for the happiness you've brought me this past year, Severus Snape. I love you."

"Well, that's the thing, Harry, I don't love you."

"What are you on ab – "

"Don't interrupt me, Potter. You have got to listen to what I'm about to say. I do not love you, nor have I ever held any love for you. On my magic I do so swear, _expecto patronum_."

"There," he said, after the doe shot out of his wand.

"You cannot dismiss that."

Harry felt shell shocked.

"But, for Merlin's sake, why?" He managed to get out through lump in his throat.

"I have abhorred everything you represented since the day you were born. I thought you knew this. The fact that you came to confess your love to me on your graduation day in itself is laughable. I never stopped to detest you, and when you came to me and surprised me with that pitiful confession of yours, I saw an opportunity. I saw the opportunity to completely ruin you and your loathsome ego. Truly, you've set yourself up for this, Potter."

Harry could do little else than give an unbelieving, horrified squeak.

"Pah, and you ask me why... You aren't even my intellectual equal. I can't discus magical theory with you, let alone potions. The last year you've been a decent fuck Harry, but no more than that. You, Harry James Potter, completely and utterly disgust me. You've always did, and won't stop to do so. I simply waited with saying this so I could see you crumble completely unlike you would have a year ago."

The man looked like he did, indeed, take sick pleasure in Harry's silent tears.

"This is the only warning you'll get: if you try to either cross or approach me in any way or manner – even if it is through your horribly inquisitive friends – I will not hesitate to send pensive memories to the press. They're still speculating whether Granger is dating both you and Ronald, or if you're shacking up with the youngest Delacour girl; aren't they? I'm sure they'll have a field day with the fact that the Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived extraordinare, is nothing but a wanton little cum dump in the bedroom, that easily comes from nothing more but sucking my dick."

The man sneered some more.

"Now stop snivelling like the pathetic child you are. It's repugnant, is what it is. I'm glad to finally be able to wash my hands off you."

With those words he turned on his heel, and Apparated.

   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus my answer to the HPxSS fics, truly imho HPxDM is less far-fetched. I truly do not get Snarry. The man hates everything 'Potter', and I cannot, for the life of me, imagine any kind of circumstanes where Snape would fall in love with Harry, a boy that's 2 decades younger than him. I got the idea for this oneshot some random time, stumbling across yet another unbelievable HPxSS; but the moment I had the will to truly write it was when I read (on fanfiction dot net) Publicola's a/n in "wait, what?" c7, called 'safer with the convict' where the author in question raises some good points in Snape's role in trying to have both Sirius' ánd Remus' soul sucked out.
> 
> The open ending is a conscious choice. In my first version (in my head) I had Harry commit suicide, because Snape had already send a letter to the press while dumping him... with the following tail: [A week later Bill and Fleur are breaking Grimmould Place's wards after the begging of Hermione and Ron. They find him and his suicide note, and Kreacher mad with grief because he was ordered not to save him, and not to seek help.]  
> Alas, it wrote itself the way I've posted it. How do you feel about Snarry?


	11. Death's consort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because what Death wants, Death gets.

August 1, 1980

The set of brand new parents took a breath of relief when they and their first born son finally were home, within the safety of their wards, away from the war. As such they found themselves rather surprised when their minds were assaulted brutally, and woke up in a wasteland, looking at what might have been a carbon copy of James, if not for Lily's vibrant eyes, and a prominent scar that reminded Lily strongly of the Sowilo rune.

She immediately tried to remember it's significance. Seat of the soul; revelation, wholeness, strengthening the charka; cosmic energies; motivation; life-giving force; action; honour, life purpose... And a few more she couldn't quite remember.

Before she could compose herself enough to comment on the remarkable scar or it's magical significance the man spoke.

"Hello, mother, father. I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. In body I may be a newborn, but in mind I am old – older than you. You see, I'm stuck in this lifecycle – the shell that is Harry James Potter, and this is the sixth time I am living this life again. Seventh if you count my original life as well. Any patience I might have once had, is long gone."

No matter how outlandish this claim was, the sincerity of the statement was undisputed.

James was the first to regain his wits.

"Patience for what, Harry?" He asked, feeling uncomfortable to call this individual whom clearly was much older than they 'son'.

"To do the normal growing up thing again. It is tedious, never mind disastrous. If we let fate run it's course I have no doubt you will kick the bucket in a year and a half... Just like in my last six lives. I hope that without me, you'll have a fighting chance in this war, while I try to accomplish what I haven't managed in said last six lives."

Lily blinked.

"What could you possibly haven't accomplished while trying to live your life over and over again?!"

"Become the Master of Death, of course."

"Excuse me?!" James half shouted, half squeaked.

Harry gave a mirthless snort.

"That was my first response as well. It is but of course just the human title. Think of an equal. A consort. I suppose I ought to give you a bit of a back ground story with this." He took a deep breath.

"You know of the prophecy? Good. Know then that Voldemort decided to act upon it, and that you guys went into hiding under a Fidelus Charm in the hopes to protect the three of us. It didn't work out. Voldemort found us anyhow, and killed the two of you. On that note, you might want to check Wormtail's arm for a fancy tattoo. But never mind that. This is where it gets complicated."

Harry tapped on the Sowilo-scar Lily had been trying to analyse earlier.

"My mother was afraid that the inevitable might happen, so she tried to instil another protection. The Sowilo rune, carved into my forehead, infused with the blood of the two of you. Quite successful. You two selflessly gave your lives for my protection, strengthening the rune tremendously. It was strong enough to backfire a Killing Curse from Voldemort himself at the height of his power. The problem herein lies lies with the fact that, you successfully garnered the attention of a higher power that got quite obsessed with me."

James flinched.

"Not Dumbledore, is it? Or, heavens forbid, another Dark Lord?"

Harry shook his head.

"Yamaraja. The twin of Hypnos. The rider of the Pale Horse. Death."

"No!" Lily gasped.

"Yes. Your clever rune placement was enough for Death to keep a close eye to me, and to become intrigued. The lonely deity finally decided that I was to become its consort. In order to do that, I was to gain two objects that would go well with the cloak I inherited from you, father. A certain wand and stone."

"But that's a myth... Impossible..." James protested weakly.

"Yes, because that's why your infant son managed to trap you both in a world constructed by Occlumency and had this conversation with you. Give me a break. From as young as I can remember Death started flirting with me, and I flirting with Death. Tumbles down the stairs, starvation, Dark Lords, Death Eaters, Trolls, Acromantulas, Baslisks, Dementors, Dragons... More Killing Curses. Far before I recognised it for what it was - Death and I were in a mating dance."

Harry sneered.

"In a way it was prophetic that they started calling me the Boy Who Lived."

"The last six lives I haven't managed to unite those three items, which had Death – whom is becoming more and more demanding each year – put me in this infernal loop in order to try again until I succeed and become Its proper consort. This will not happen again. So here is what we are going to do..."

Three hours later a sixteen year old Harry James Potter, infinitely glad for the ageing-potion Lily managed to brew so quickly, Apparated to Little Hangleton wearing nothing but the Peverell cloak.

A few hours later he slipped the ring onto a sleeping and stupified Albus Dumbledore's hand. Ignoring the fast working curse on the ring he took Albus' wand form his nightstand, and summoned the stone of the ring.

He ignored the magical rush he felt, as well as the sweet whispers in his ear. He had to go to his parental home. Give his father his wand back, produce a homunculus with a convincing case of SIDS, obliviate the hell out of them, and to magically ensure they weren't discouraged in their attempt at procreation by their firstborn dying so soon. Even if he wouldn't grow up with them, he loved the idea of siblings.

Now he could descent into perpetuity with his eternal lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't about some weird ritual so Harry would beat Voldemort in the end. In this story Voldemort is an afterthought. Maybe Harry deals with him out of sheer spite. Who knows? This was about Death as an entity (an intriguing concept within the HP Universe), with an unhealthy obsession with the Boy Who Lived, who wants Harry for Itself. Or at least the result thereof.
> 
> Defeating Voldemort is almost always a great part of any time travel fic, while - imho - those that really define themselves almost always deal with Voldemort (if at all) as an afterthought. What are your thoughts?


	12. Finding a Secret Keeper 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there's a prophecy that dictates that her baby boy might be targeted? Lily is nothing if not thorough!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mention of slash-threesome

 

Lilly had that glint in her eyes again. Whenever she looked like that, James wisely decided that he'd leave her to make the important decisions, and act like a properly pussy-whipped husband. Not that she would allow him to actually have an opinion at such times. So when he came home with his wonderful wife after visiting the Order of the Phoenix where they just had a very emotional conversation with Albus, Frank and Alice regarding their son and godson, he simply did as his wife ordered. He complied when she unceremoniously handed him Harry with the words: "Don't you dare to leave our baby-boy out of sight right now."

"I'll be," he muttered as he automatically he shifted to make Harry comfortable in his arms. "Talk about sounding ominous."

He could have sworn that she had woven magic into that command.

Thus he sat meekly on the couch while his wife bustled through the house in a frenzy, and tried to ignore the the noise that sounded as if she were raiding her own potions cabinet. After a particularly hard crash of what sounded like glass drowned whatever nonsense he was talking to his son, he simply hugged his little Prongs jr tighter and tried to pretend all was well. No, there wasn't a prophecy, Lily hadn't turned in Wife-zilla, and they most certainly did not live in times of war.

Maybe he should suggest to Lily for the three of them to move to the Bermuda. ...No. Random thoughts begone! His task was child rearing at the moment, he reminded himself. If she found him writing a letter to Gringotts real-estate division rather than playing with their little baby-boy, she would not be pleased. Excuses about fleeing dreary weather probably wouldn't work, James mused while absently cooing back at Harry. Daring to cross paths with his wife could very well be lethal, and therefore ill-advised to do. She said she had a plan – a plan she was working on right now; yes, his beautiful Lily-flower would know what to do, like always.

* * *

 

"Lily," Remus asked, "why are you sealing the room so you have to be the first to leave alive and free of influence of potions and spells?"

"I was wondering about that as well," Sirius pondered out loud, "I recognize some of those, Lilz, I have read about that kind of stuff in the Black family library. Why on earth are you using these kind of lethal negotiation wards when we are under friends?"

"It... It is almost as if you don't trust us anymore, Lily." Added Peter, sounding aghast at the idea of being among people that couldn't be trusted.

"That is exactly what it sounds like, Peter," responded Lily with a grim face, while absently patting Harry on the head who was happily gurgling some incomprehensible words next to her breast in the baby carrier.

"Even though I trust all of you emotionally, rationally I know there is a spy amongst our midst, so I can't trust you. All of you."

The four men winced.

"So I have come up with a solution: a drinking game."

If it weren't such a dire situation, she would have loved to make a photo of the incredulous faces looking at her. James was the first to recover and began to sputter.

"A drinking game? Are you out of your mind, Lily? I know you have Irish roots, but come on! Alcohol doesn't solve anything! This is our son we are talking about." James began to gesture wildly in his agitation. "There is a megalomaniac that could very well be out to off our son as we speak, and you think booze is the answer? Wat the hell?!"

She made a scoffing noise.

"Don't be ridiculous James. Now, I expect all four of you to hand me your wands peacefully. If you do not comply I will take your wand, but it won't be peaceful." The tone of warning was light, but not to be taken lightly.

They all knew it. It wasn't just James whom she had proverbially beaten into submission. All four meekly presented her their wands. She nodded friendly with each wand she accepted, and put them all in her back pocket. The four defenceless men looked at each other when they saw Lily's smile becoming more forced and fearsome than it already was.

"Now boys, stick out your tongues, and wait for your three drops of Veritaserum – not much drinking, I know, but meh; who cares for semantics anyway?"

Not one of them dared to retort with anything. Twelve drops later she looked positively feral.

"Now boys, pay attention, here is my question: Are you a Death Eater, or in any way in alliance with Voldemort or his idea's?"

Simultaneously she heard three times "no I'm not", and one "yes I am". She was glad to see that Remus, who was sitting next to Peter, didn't waste any time by physically knocking him unconscious.

A few spells later he was as naked as the day he was born. Checking his now glamour-free wrist they saw the inevitable evidence. The three friends were very disappointed to see the Dark Mark on the wrist of their newly ex-friend.

"Remus, could you be a dear and check all of his openings for hidden port keys? I want to be thorough."

The werewolf grimaced, and did as asked; only to look completely disgusted when he found out he had to remove a genital piercing from Peter. Brilliant, if not disgusting. Remus didn't look sorry at all when he showed no mercy and ripped the thing off... Maybe not so brilliant after all. After their irrational male-sympathy wince Sirius and James nodded approvingly at Remus.

As he accepted his wand back from Lily, he did another spell to check if he had indeed removed all piercings. Meanwhile Lily was strapping the baby carrier off, after handing Harry back to James.

Ignoring the two almost-brothers, who were happy to occupy themselves with Harry in favour for not having to deal with Peter, she sat opposite of Remus, trapping the unconscious Peter between the two of them.

"That were all the portkey's?"

"Yes."

"Good, now would you mind turning him on his belly so I can have his back – good, thanks Moony."

Remus looked with fearful eyes at Lily who had no qualms about holding a wicked looking dagger – was that a silver alloy? Remus decided that she, in her capacity as a mother looked more feral than he thought himself, a werewolf, to ever be capable of.

"Lily, not that don't I approve, because I don't mind any harm you inflict on this... person, but what on earth are you carving on his back?"

"Runes."

Peter moaned softly, only to be kicked swiftly in the head by Sirius.

"Yes, we see that, but we aren't familiar with this particular array."

"It prevents his body to every be transfigured in anything ever again, Padfoot. In a moment little Wormy here will have lost his animagus form."

"Brilliant."

"I know," she said, with her voice sounding dangerously pleasant. "That's why I have mixed salt through the ink that I will rub into his wounds when I'm finished with this scarification. I want that filthy little rat to suffer."

Fifteen minutes later, the three men were looking approvingly at their turncoat-friend's back. Lily was a gruesome artist, they unanimously agreed.

Not that she cared for their approval. She proceeded by cursing Peter with extreme muscle weakness.

"Remus, pull him in sitting position and hold him so he can't move, Sirius, the second I enevervate him, I want you to hold his nose. The minute he opens his mouth I will pour this vial of Draught of Living Death in his mouth. When that's done, we don't have to worry about him anymore."

After two minutes of struggle, Peter looked dead for all intents and purposes.

"Now boys, Peter can wait right now, so here is what we will do. First I want Remus and Sirius to do a fatherhood blood-ritual to make sure you aren't his honorary uncles, or lawfully unacknowledged godfathers, but honest-to-Merlin daddies. In that case, when something happens to James and I, and Sirius does something incredibly dumb – and hasn't anybody to pay his bail, like he would have otherwise – Remus has full rights over Harry. Capisce?"

After a half hour of bickering they had finally talked Remus into giving Harry some of his blood – Lily had insisted that she had looked into it extensively for quite a while now, and concluded her little baby-boy would only benefit from it.

Two hours and an complicated ritual later, all three fathers were looking at Lily expectingly.

"Now we have taken care of almost everything. I want the four of us to swear an binding oath of protection and fidelity towards each other. You won't die or lose your magic if you break it, because the vow will physically incapable of doing so."

Four three-way vows later, Lily looked quite satisfied.

"Now I own a studio in Dorgheda in Ireland, James has bought this cottage here in Godrics Hollow, Sirius inherited the little cottage from his uncle Alphard in Hogsmead, and Remus owns his cottage with excellent bunker in Ewloe, Wales. I want them all under fidelus. So here is what we are going to do."

She took a deep breath.

"I will be Sirius' secret keeper."

"Sirius will be James' secret keeper."

"James will be Remus' secret Keeper."

"And to complete the circle, Remus will be my secret keeper."

She was answered with smiles.

"Brilliant idea, Lily-flower; I don't know what we would do without you."

"Random recklessness, James. That's what you would be up to. Do not think I have forgotten that you wanted to name our precious son Elvendork..."

* * *

They didn't get any sleep, but at seven AM, four properties were under fidelus. The prophecy went unfulfilled when in 1982 Voldemort, in an attempt to make his seventh and final horcrux, disintegrated his body in the process. This was a year after Regulus Black died after drinking that horrible potion.

Two month's after Voldemort's death, Sirius couldn't be more delighted to hear that his mother finally kicked the bucket. Apparently, she went completely around the bend at seeing her youngest son's cold body. As Sirius took up the mantle as the new Lord Black, he asked Kreacher what the hell the elf thought he was doing, not cleaning the manor... And got a straight answer. The horcrux was brought to the department of ministries where they could do an easy ritual to make the soul whole, effectively gathering Voldemort's wraith as well. They destroyed the horcrux-holding-a-whole-soul in the ministry atrium in front of countless reporters, live on the WWN.

Protest against blood-racism eventually led to a revolution in which the ministry and the Wizengamot were occupied by an angry mob; sick of back-door politics and the undemocratic system. Harry's generation would know no war.

* * *

 

What Lily Potter hadn't anticipated was that the archaic fidelity oaths weren't so much meant for allegiance rather than devotion to one-another in arranged marriages. The very oath's nature came with a very strong compulsion against breaking or absolving it as well. Within months the need for physical contact was overwhelming. Walking in on all three of 'her' boys in the bedroom and seeing some of her dirtier fantasies played out in front of her was exhilarating. Demanding to be allowed to join in and be showered in their attention was intoxicating. Lily couldn't be a happier woman.

Within a year of that particular event James and Lily bonded their marriage and magic with Sirius and Remus as well. The lovers quartet was blissfully happy. Harry James Potter grew up to be an eldest brother to a pair of twins, Regulus Castor and Alphard Pollux Black; and their baby sister Lotus Larentia Lupin. All four of them had three daddies and one mummy. But no-one in the family would have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that whenever I write Lily I seem to be influenced by [Rorschach's Blot's Odd Idea's chapter 117 called a Spark of MADNESS](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2565609/117/Odd-Ideas)... In this oneshot Lily is portrayed as the somewhat unhinged mad scientist that steamrolls over everything and everyone, including her husband. My Lily isn't that extreme... Or funny... I hope you enjoy her nevertheless.
> 
> Which makes me wonder, what kind of person do you imagine Lily would be?


End file.
